LIBRARY 

UNIVs    sty  OF 

CAiJfORNIA 
SAM  Bh&SO 


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THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 


THE  GENTLE 
GRAFTER 


BY      ' 

O.  HENRY 


Author  of  "The  Four  Million,"  "The  Voice  of  the 

City,"   "The    Trimmed  Lamp,"  "Strictly 

Business,"  "Whirligigs,"  Etc. 


PUBLISHED   BY 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

FOR 

REVIEW  OF  REVIEWS  CO. 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,   1904,   1907,   I008,  BY 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED,    INCLUDING    THAT   OF 

TRANSLATION  INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES, 

INCLUDING  THE   SCANDINAVIAN 

Copyright,  1906,  by  The  Frank  A.  Munsey  Company 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Octopus  Marooned 3 

Jeff  Peters  as  a  Personal  Magnet     .      .      .      .  18 

Modern  Rural  Sports 33 

The  Chair  of  Philanthromathematics   ...  45 

The  Hand  That  Riles  the  World       ....  58 

The  Exact  Science  of  Matrimony     .      ...  71 

A  Midsummer  Masquerade 85 

Shearing  the  Wolf 99 

Innocents   of   Broadway 112 

Conscience  in  Art 126 

The  Man  Higher  Up 137 

A  Tempered  Wind 160 

Hostages  to  Momus 198 

The  Ethics  of  Pig 222 


THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 


THE  OCTOPUS  MAROONED 

"A  TRUST  is  its  weakest  point,"  said  Jeff  Peters. 

"That,"  said  I,  "sounds  like  one  of  those  unintel- 
ligible remarks  such  as,  'Why  is  a  policeman?' " 

"It  is  not,"  said  Jeff.  "There  are  no  relations 
between  a  trust  and  a  policeman.  My  remark  was  an 
epitogram  —  an  axis  —  a  kind  of  mulct'em  in  parvo. 
What  it  means  is  that  a  trust  is  like  an  egg,  and  it  is 
not  like  an  egg.  If  you  want  to  break  an  egg  you 
have  to  do  it  from  the  outside.  The  only  way  to 
break  up  a  trust  is  from  the  inside.  Keep  sitting  on 
it  until  it  hatches.  Look  at  the  brood  of  young  col- 
leges and  libraries  that's  chirping  and  peeping  all 
over  the  country.  Yes,  sir,  every  trust  bears  in  its 
own  bosom  the  seeds  of  its  destruction  like  a  rooster 
that  crows  near  a  Georgia  colored  Methodist  camp 
meeting,  or  a  Republican  announcing  himself  a  candi- 
date for  governor  of  Texas." 

I  asked  Jeff,  jestingly,  if  he  had  ever,  during  his 

checkered,  plaided,  mottled,  pied  and  dappled  career, 

conducted  an  enterprise  of  the  class  to  which  the 

3 


4  The  Gentle  Grafter 

word  "trust"  had  been  applied.  Somewhat  to  my 
surprise  he  acknowledged  the  corner. 

"Once,"  said  he.  "And  the  state  seal  of  New 
Jersey  never  bit  into  a  charter  that  opened  up  a 
solider  and  safer  piece  of  legitimate  octopusing.  We 
had  everything  in  our  favor  —  wind,  water,  police, 
nerve,  and  a  clean  monopoly  of  an  article  indispensa- 
ble to  the  public.  There  wasn't  a  trust  buster  on  the 
globe  that  could  have  found  a  weak  spot  in  our 
scheme.  It  made  Rockefeller's  little  kerosene  specu- 
lation look  like  a  bucket  shop.     But  we  lost  out." 

"Some  unforeseen  opposition  came  up,  I  suppose," 
I  said. 

"No,  sir,  it  was  just  as  I  said.  We  were  self- 
curbed.  It  was  a  case  of  auto-suppression.  There 
was  a  rift  within  the  loot,  as  Albert  Tennyson  says. 

"You  remember  I  told  you  that  me  and  Andy 
Tucker  was  partners  for  some  years.  That  man  was 
the  most  talented  conniver  at  stratagems  I  ever  saw. 
Whenever  he  saw  a  dollar  in  another  man's  hands  he 
took  it  as  a  personal  grudge,  if  he  couldn't  take  it 
any  other  way.  Andy  was  educated,  too,  besides 
having  a  lot  of  useful  information.  He  had  acquired 
a  big  amount  of  experience  out  of  books,  and  could 
talk  for  hours  on  any  subject  connected  with  ideas 
and  discourse.     He  had  been  in  every  line  of  graft 


The  Octopus  Marooned  5 

from  lecturing  on  Palestine  with  a  lot  of  magic  lan- 
tern pictures  of  the  annual  Custom-made  Clothiers' 
Association  convention  at  Atlantic  City  to  flooding 
Connecticut  with  bogus  wood  alcohol  distilled  from 
nutmegs. 

"One  Spring  me  and  Andy  had  been  over  in  Mex- 
ico on  a  flying  trip  during  which  a  Philadelphia  cap- 
italist had  paid  us  $2,500  for  a  half  interest  in  a 
silver  mine  in  Chihuahua.  Oh,  yes,  the  mine  was  all 
right.  The  other  half  interest  must  have  been  worth 
two  or  three  hundred  thousand.  I  often  wondered 
who  owned  that  mine. 

"In  coming  back  to  the  United  States  me  and 
Andy  stubbed  our  toes  against  a  little  town  in  Texas 
on  the  bank  of  the  Rio  Grande.  The  name  of  it  was 
Bird  City ;  but  it  wasn't.  The  town  had  about  2,000 
inhabitants,  mostly  men.  I  figured  out  that  their 
principal  means  of  existence  was  in  living  close  to 
tall  chaparral.  Some  of  'em  were  stockmen  and  some 
gamblers  and  some  horse  peculators  and  plenty  were 
in  the  smuggling  line.  Me  and  Andy  put  up  at  a 
hotel  that  was  built  like  something  between  a  roof- 
garden  and  a  sectional  bookcase.  It  began  to  rain 
the  day  we  got  there.  As  the  saying  is,  Juniper 
Aquarius  was  sure  turning  on  the  water  plugs  on 
Mount  Amphibious. 


6  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"Now,  there  were  three  saloons  in  Bird  City, 
though  neither  Andy  nor  me  drank.  But  we  could 
see  the  townspeople  making  a  triangular  procession 
from  one  to  another  all  day  and  half  the  night. 
Everj'body  seemed  to  know  what  to  do  with  as  much 
money  as  they  had. 

"The  third  day  of  the  rain  it  slacked  up  awhile  in 
the  afternoon,  so  me  and  Andy  walked  out  to  the 
edge  of  town  to  view  the  mudscape.  Bird  City  was 
built  between  the  Rio  Grande  and  a  deep  wide  ar- 
royo  that  used  to  be  the  old  bed  of  the  river.  The 
bank  between  the  stream  and  its  old  bed  was  crack- 
ing and  giving  away,  when  we  saw  it,  on  account  of 
the  high  water  caused  by  the  rain.  Andj7  looks  at  it 
a  long  time.  That  man's  intellects  was  never  idle. 
And  then  he  unfolds  to  me  a  instantaneous  idea  that 
has  occurred  to  him.  Right  there  was  organized  a 
trust ;  and  we  walked  back  into  town  and  put  it  on 
the  market. 

"First  we  went  to  the  main  saloon  in  Bird  City, 
called  the  Blue  Snake,  and  bought  it.  It  cost  us 
$1,200.  And  then  we  dropped  in,  casual,  at  Mexican 
Joe's  place,  referred  to  the  rain,  and  bought  him  out 
for  $500.     The  other  one  came  easy  at  $400. 

"The  next  morning  Bird  City  woke  up  and  found 
itself  an  island.     The  river  had  busted  through  its  old 


The  Octopus  Marooned  7 

channel,  and  the  town  was  surrounded  by  roaring  tor- 
rents. The  rain  was  still  raining,  and  there  was 
heavy  clouds  in  the  northwest  that  presaged  about 
six  more  mean  annual  rainfalls  during  the  next  two 
weeks.     But  the  worst  was  yet  to  come. 

"Bird  City  hopped  out  of  its  nest,  waggled  its  pin 
feathers  and  strolled  out  for  its  matutinal  toot.  Lo ! 
Mexican  Joe's  place  was  closed  and  likewise  the  other 
little  'dobe  life  saving  station.  So,  naturally  the 
body  politic  emits  thirsty  ejaculations  of  surprise 
and  ports  helium  for  the  Blue  Snake.  And  what  does 
it  find  there? 

"Behind  one  end  of  the  bar  sits  Jefferson  Peters, 
octopus,  with  a  sixshooter  on  each  side  of  him,  ready 
to  make  change  or  corpses  as  the  case  may  be.  There 
are  three  bartenders ;  and  on  the  wall  is  a  ten  foot 
sign  reading:  'All  Drinks  One  Dollar.'  Andy  sits 
on  the  safe  in  his  neat  blue  suit  and  gold-banded 
cigar,  on  the  lookout  for  emergencies.  The  town 
marshal  is  there  with  two  deputies  to  keep  order, 
having  been  promised  free  drinks  by  the  trust. 

"Well,  sir,  it  took  Bird  City  just  ten  minutes  to 
realize  that  it  was  in  a  cage.  We  expected  trouble; 
but  there  wasn't  any.  The  citizens  saw  that  we  had 
'em.  The  nearest  railroad  was  thirty  miles  away ; 
and  it  would  be  two  weeks  at  least  before  the  river 


8 


The  Gentle  Grafter 


2 

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5* 

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The  Octopus  Marooned  9 

would  be  fordable.  So  they  began  to  cuss,  amiable, 
and  throw  down  dollars  on  the  bar  till  it  sounded  like 
a  selection  on  the  xylophone. 

"There  was  about  1,500  grown-up  adults  in  Bird 
City  that  had  arrived  at  years  of  indiscretion ;  and 
the  majority  of  'em  required  from  three  to  twenty 
drinks  a  day  to  make  life  endurable.  The  Blue  Snake 
was  the  only  place  where  they  could  get  'em  till  the 
flood  subsided.  It  was  beautiful  and  simple  as  all 
truly  great  swindles  are. 

"About  ten  o'clock  the  silver  dollars  dropping  on 
the  bar  slowed  down  to  playing  two-steps  and 
marches  instead  of  jigs.  But  I  looked  out  the  win- 
dows and  saw  a  hundred  or  two  of  our  customers 
standing  in  line  at  Bird  City  Savings  and  Loan 
Co.,  and  I  knew  they  were  borrowing  more  money 
to  be  sucked  in  by  the  clammy  tendrils  of  the  octo- 
pus. 

"At  the  fashionable  hour  of  noon  everybody  went 
home  to  dinner.  We  told  the  bartenders  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  lull,  and  do  the  same.  Then  me  and 
Andy  counted  the  receipts.  We  had  taken  in  $1,300. 
We  calculated  that  if  Bird  City  would  only  remain 
an  island  for  two  weeks  the  trust  would  be  able  to 
endow  the  Chicago  University  with  a  new  dormitory 
of  padded  cells  for  the  faculty,  and  present  every 


10 


The  Gentle  Grafter 


Andy  was  especial  inroaded  by  self-esteem 


»> 


The  Octopus  Marooned  11 

worthy  poor  man  in  Texas  with  a  farm,  provided  he 
furnished  the  site  for  it. 

"Andy  was  especial  inroaded  by  self-esteem  at  our 
success,  the  rudiments  of  the  scheme  having  origi- 
nated in  his  own  surmises  and  premonitions.  He  got 
off  the  safe  and  lit  the  biggest  cigar  in  the  house. 

"  'Jeff,'  says  he,  'I  don't  suppose  that  anywhere 
in  the  world  you  could  find  three  cormorants  with 
brighter  ideas  about  down-treading  the  proletariat 
than  the  firm  of  Peters,  Satan  and  Tucker,  incor- 
porated. We  have  sure  handed  the  small  consumer 
a  giant  blow  in  the  sole  apoplectic  region.     No?' 

"'Well,'  says  I,  'it  does  look  as  if  we  would  have 
to  take  up  gastritis  and  golf  or  be  measured  for  kilts 
in  spite  of  ourselves.  This  little  turn  in  bug  juice  is, 
verily,  all  to  the  Skibo.  And  I  can  stand  it,'  says  I. 
'I'd  rather  batten  than  bant  any  day.' 

"Andy  pours  himself  out  four  fingers  of  our  best 
rye  and  does  with  it  as  was  so  intended.  It  was  the 
first  drink  I  had  ever  known  him  to  take. 

'By  way  of  liberation,'  says  he,  'to  the  gods.' 

'And  then  after  thus  doing  umbrage  to  the 
heathen  diabetes  he  drinks  another  to  our  success. 
And  then  he  begins  to  toast  the  trade,  beginning  with 
Raisuli  and  the  Northern  Pacific,  and  on  down  the 
line  to  tic  little  ones  like  the  school  book  combine  and 


12  The  Gentle  Grafter 

the  oleomargarine  outrages  and  the  Lehigh  Valley 
and  Great  Scott  Coal  Federation. 

"  'It's  all  right,  Andy,'  says  I,  'to  drink  the  health 
of  our  brother  monopolists,  but  don't  overdo  the  was- 
sail. You  know  our  most  eminent  and  loathed  multi- 
corruptionists  live  on  weak  tea  and  dog  biscuits.' 

"Andy  went  in  the  back  room  awhile  and  came  out 
dressed  in  his  best  clothes.  There  was  a  kind  of  mur- 
derous and  soulful  look  of  gentle  riotousness  in  his 
eye  that  I  didn't  like.  I  watched  him  to  see  what  turn 
the  whiskey  was  going  to  take  in  him.  There  are  two 
times  when  you  never  can  tell  what  is  going  to  hap- 
pen. One  is  when  a  man  takes  his  first  drink ;  and 
the  other  is  when  a  woman  takes  her  latest. 

"In  less  than  an  hour  Andy's  skate  had  turned  to 
an  ice  yacht.  He  was  outwardly  decent  and  man- 
aged to  preserve  his  aquarium,  but  inside  he  was  im- 
promptu and  full  of  unexpectedness. 

"'Jeff,'  says  he,  'do  you  know  that  I'm  a  crater 
« — a  living  crater?' 

"  'That's  a  self-evident  hypothesis,'  says  I.  'But 
you're  not  Irish.  Why  don't  you  say  'creature,'  ac- 
cording to  the  rules  and  syntax  of  America?' 

"  'I'm  the  crater  of  a  volcano,'  says  he.  'I'm  all 
aflame  and  crammed  inside  with  an  assortment  of 
words  and  phrases  that  have  got  to  have  an  exodus* 


« <1 


The  Octopus  Marooned  18 

I  can  feel  millions  of  synonyms  and  parts  of  speech 
rising  in  me,'  says  he,  'and  I've  got  to  make  a  speech 
of  some  sort.  Drink,'  says  Andy,  'always  drives  me 
to  oratory.' 

'It  could  do  no  worse,'  says  I. 
'From  my  earliest  recollections,'  says  he,  'alco- 
hol seemed  to  stimulate  my  sense  of  recitation  and 
rhetoric.  Why,  in  Bryan's  second  campaign,'  says 
Andy,  'they  used  to  give  me  three  gin  rickeys  and 
I'd  speak  two  hours  longer  than  Billy  himself  could 
on  the  silver  question.  Finally  they  persuaded  me  to 
take  the  gold  cure.' 

"  'If  you've  got  to  get  rid  of  your  excess  verbiage,' 
says  I,  'why  not  go  out  on  the  river  bank  and  speak 
a  piece?  It  seems  to  me  there  was  an  old  spell-binder 
named  Cantharides  that  used  to  go  and  disincorpo- 
rate himself  of  his  windy  numbers  along  the  seashore." 

"  'No,'  says  Andy,  'I  must  have  an  audience.  I 
feel  like  if  I  once  turned  loose  people  would  begin 
to  call  Senator  Bevcridge  the  Grand  Young  Sphinx 
of  the  Wabash.  I've  got  to  get  an  audience  to- 
gether, Jeff,  and  get  this  oral  distension  assuaged  or 
it  may  turn  in  on  me  and  I'd  go  about  feeling  like 
a  deckle-edge  edition  de  luxe  of  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N. 
Southworth.' 

"'On  what  special  subject  of  the  theorems  and 


14  The  Gentle  Grafter 

topics  does  your  desire  for  vocality  seem  to  be  con- 
nected with?'  I  asks. 

"  'I  ain't  particular,'  says  Andy.  'I  am  equally 
good  and  varicose  on  all  subjects.  I  can  take  up  the 
matter  of  Russian  immigration,  or  the  poetry  of 
John  W.  Keats,  or  the  tariff,  or  Kabyle  literature, 
or  drainage,  and  make  my  audience  weep,  cry,  sob  and 
shed  tears  by  turns.' 

"  'Well,  Andy,'  says  I,  'if  you  are  bound  to  get 
rid  of  this  accumulation  of  vernacular  suppose  you 
go  out  in  town  and  work  it  on  some  indulgent  citizen. 
Me  and  the  boys  will  take  care  of  the  business. 
Everybody  will  be  through  dinner  pretty  soon,  and 
salt  pork  and  beans  makes  a  man  pretty  thirsty. 
We  ought  to  take  in  $1,500  more  by  midnight.' 

"So  Andy  goes  out  of  the  Blue  Snake,  and  I  see 
him  stopping  men  on  the  street  and  talking  to  'em. 
By  and  by  he  has  half  a  dozen  in  a  bunch  listening  to 
him ;  and  pretty  soon  I  see  him  waving  his  arms  and 
elocuting  at  a  good-sized  crowd  on  a  corner.  When 
he  walks  away  they  string  out  after  him,  talking  all 
the  time ;  and  he  leads  'em  down  the  main  street  of 
Bird  City  with  more  men  joining  the  procession  as 
they  go.  It  reminded  me  of  the  old  legerdemain 
that  I'd  read  in  books  about  the  Pied  Piper  of  Heid- 
sieck  charming  the  children  away  from  the  town. 


The  Octopus  Marooned 


15 


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16  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"One  o'clock  came;  and  then  two;  and  three  got 
under  the  wire  for  place ;  and  not  a  Bird  citizen  came 
in  for  a  drink.  The  streets  were  deserted  except  for 
some  ducks  and  ladies  going  to  the  stores.  There 
was  only  a  light  drizzle  falling  then. 

"A  lonesome  man  came  along  and  stopped  in  front 
of  the  Blue  Snake  to  scrape  the  mud  off  his  boots. 

"'Pardner,'  says  I,  'what  has  happened?  This 
morning  there  was  hectic  gayety  afoot ;  and  now  it 
seems  more  like  one  of  them  ruined  cities  of  Tyre 
and  Siphon  where  the  lone  lizard  crawls  on  the  walls 
of  the  main  port-cullis.' 

"  'The  whole  town,'  says  the  muddy  man,  'is  up  in 
Sperry's  wool  warehouse  listening  to  your  side-kicker 
make  a  speech.  He  is  some  gravy  on  delivering  him- 
self of  audible  sounds  relating  to  matters  and  con- 
clusions,' says  the  man. 

'"Well,  I  hope  he'll  adjourn,  sine  qua  non,  prettj 
soon,'  says  I,  'for  trade  languishes.' 

"Not  a  customer  did  we  have  that  afternoon.  At 
six  o'clock  two  Mexicans  brought  Andy  to  the  sa- 
loon lying  across  the  back  of  a  burro.  We  put  him 
to  bed  while  he  still  muttered  and  gesticulated  with  his 
hands  and  feet. 

"Then  I  locked  up  the  cash  and  went  out  to  see 
what  had  happened.     I  met  a  man  who  told  me  all 


The  Octopus  Marooned  17 

about  it.  Andy  had  made  the  finest  two  hour  speech 
that  had  ever  been  heard  in  Texas,  he  said,  or  any- 
where else  in  the  world. 

"'What  was  it  about?'  I  asked. 

"'Temperance,'  says  he.  'And  when  he  got 
through,  every  man  in  Bird  City  signed  the  pledge 
for  a  year.' 


J  )9 


JEFF   PETERS   AS   A   PERSONAL  MAGNET 

JEFF  PETERS  has  been  engaged  in  as  many 
schemes  for  making  money  as  there  are  recipes  for 
cooking  rice  in  Charleston,  S.  C. 

Best  of  all  I  like  to  hear  him  tell  of  his  earlier 
days  when  he  sold  liniments  and  cough  cures  on  street 
corners,  living  hand  to  mouth,  heart  to  heart  with 
the  people,  throwing  heads  or  tails  with  fortune  for 
his  last  coin. 

"I  struck  Fisher  Hill,  Arkansaw,"  said  he,  "in  ■«* 
buckskin  suit,  moccasins,  long  hair  and  a  thirty- 
carat  diamond  ring  that  I  got  from  an  actor  in  Tex- 
arkana.  I  don't  know  what  he  ever  did  with  the 
pocket  knife  I  swapped  him  for  it. 

"I  was  Dr.  Waugh-hoo,  the  celebrated  Indian  med- 
icine man.  I  carried  only  one  best  bet  just  then,  and 
that  was  Resurrection  Bitters.  It  was  made  of  life- 
giving  plants  and  herbs  accidentally  discovered  by 
Ta-qua-la,  the  beautiful  wife  of  the  chief  of  the  Choc- 
taw Nation,  while  gathering  truck  to  garnish  a  plat- 
ter of  boiled  dog  for  the  annual  corn  dance. 

"Business  hadn't  been  good  at  the  last  town,  so  I 

18 


Jeff  Peters  as  a  Personal  Magnet       19 


Life  began  to  look  rosy  again*" 


20  The  Gentle  Grafter 

only  had  five  dollars.  I  went  to  the  Fisher  Hill  drug- 
gist and  he  credited  me  for  half  a  gross  of  eight- 
ounce  bottles  and  corks.  I  had  the  labels  and  ingre- 
dients in  my  valise,  left  over  from  the  last  town.  Life 
began  to  look  rosy  again  after  I  got  in  my  hotel  room 
with  the  water  running  from  the  tap,  and  the  Res- 
urrection Bitters  lining  up  on  the  table  by  the  dozen. 

"Fake?  No,  sir.  There  was  two  dollars'  worth 
of  fluid  extract  of  cinchona  and  a  dime's  worth  of 
aniline  in  that  half-gross  of  bitters.  I've  gone 
through  towns  years  afterwards  and  had  folks  ask 
for  'em  again. 

"I  hired  a  wagon  that  night  and  commenced  sell- 
ing the  bitters  on  Main  Street.  Fisher  Hill  was  a  low, 
malarial  town ;  and  a  compound  hypothetical  pneumo- 
cardiac  anti-scorbutic  tonic  was  just  what  I  diagnosed 
the  crowd  as  needing.  The  bitters  started  off  like 
sweetbreads-on-toast  at  a  vegetarian  dinner.  I  had 
sold  two  dozen  at  fifty  cents  apiece  when  I  felt  some- 
body pull  my  coat  tail.  I  knew  what  that  meant ;  so 
I  climbed  down  and  sneaked  a  five  dollar  bill  into  the 
hand  of  a  man  with  a  German  silver  star  on  his  lapel. 

"  'Constable,'  says  I,  'it's  a  fine  night.' 

"  'Have  you  got  a  city  license,'  he  asks,  'to  sell 
this  illegitimate  essence  of  spooju  that  you  flatter  by 
the  name  of  medicine?' 


a 


Jeff  Peters  as  a  Personal  Magnet      21 

'I  have  not,'  says  I.  'I  didn't  know  you  had  a 
city.  If  i  can  find  it  to-morrow  I'll  take  one  out  if 
it's  necessary.' 


"  /  commenced  selling  the  bitters  on  Main  Street." 

"'I'll  have  to  close  you  up  till  you  do,'  says  the 
constable. 

"I  quit  selling  and  went  back  to  the  hotel.  I  was 
talking  to  the  landlord  about  it. 


22  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"  'Oh,  you  won't  stand  no  show  in  Fisher  Hill,' 
says  he.  'Dr.  Hoskins,  the  only  doctor  here,  is  a 
brother-in-law  of  the  Mayor,  and  they  won't  allow 
no  fake  doctor  to  practice  in  town.' 

"  'I  don't  practice  medicine,'  says  I,  'I've  got  a 
State  peddler's  license,  and  I  take  out  a  city  one 
wherever  they  demand  it.' 

"I  went  to  the  Mayor's  office  the  next  morning  and 
they  told  me  he  hadn't  showed  up  yet.  They  didn't 
know  when  he'd  be  down.  So  Doc  Waugh-hoc 
hunches  down  again  in  a  hotel  chair  and  lights  a 
jimpson-weed  regalia,  and  waits. 

"Bf"  and  by  a  young  man  in  a  blue  necktie  slips 
into  the  chair  next  to  me  and  asks  the  time. 

"  'Half-past  ten,'  says  I  'and  you  are  Andy 
Tucker.  I've  seen  you  work.  Wasn't  it  you  that 
put  up  the  Great  Cupid  Combination  package  on  the 
Southern  States?  Let's  see,  it  was  a  Chilian  diamond 
engagement  ring,  a  wedding  ring,  a  potato  masher,  a 
bottle  of  soothing  syrup  and  Dorothy  Vernon  —  all 
for  fifty  cents.' 

"Andy  was  pleased  to  hear  that  I  remembered  him. 
He  was  a  good  street  man  ;  and  he  was  more  than  that 
—  he  respected  his  profession,  and  he  was  satisfied 
with  300  per  cent,  profit.  He  had  plenty  of  offers  to 
go  into  the  illegitimate  drug  and  garden  seed  busi- 


Jeff  Peters  as  a  Personal  Magnet       23 

ness ;  but  he  was  never  to  be  tempted  off  of  the 
straight  path. 

"I  wanted  a  partner,  so  Andy  and  me  agreed  to  go 
out  together.  I  told  him  about  the  situation  in  Fisher 
Hill  and  how  finances  was  low  on  account  of  the  local 
mixture  of  politics  and  jalap.  And}'  had  just  got  in 
on  the  train  that  morning.  He  was  pretty  low  him- 
self, arid  was  going  to  canvass  the  town  for  a  few  dol- 
lars to  build  a  new  battleship  by  popular  subscription 
at  Eureka  Springs.  So  we  went  out  and  sat  on  the 
porch  and  talked  it  over. 

"The  next  morning  at  eleven  o'clock  when  I  was 
sitting  there  alone,  an  Uncle  Tom  shuffles  into  the 
hotel  and  asked  for  the  doctor  to  come  and  see  Judge 
Banks,  who,  it  seems,  was  the  mayor  and  a  mighty 
sick  man. 

"'I'm  no  doctor,'  says  I.  'Why  don't  you  go 
and  get  the  doctor?' 

"'Boss,'  says  he.  'Doc  Hoskins  am  done  gone 
twenty  miles  in  de  country  to  see  some  sick  persons. 
He's  de  only  doctor  in  de  town,  and  Massa  Banks  am 
powerful  bad  off.  He  sent  me  to  ax  you  to  please, 
suh,  come.' 

"'As  man  to  man,'  says  I,  'I'll  go  and  look  him 
over.'  So  I  put  a  bottle  of  Resurrection  Bitters  in 
roy  pocket  and  goes  up  on  the  hill  to  the  mayor's 


24  The  Gentle  Grafter 

mansion,  the  finest  house  in  town,  with  a  mansard 
roof  and  two  east  iron  dogs  on  the  lawn. 

"This  Mayor  Banks  was  in  bed  all  but  his  whiskers 
and  feet.  He  was  making  internal  noises  that  would 
have  Lad  everybody  in  San  Francisco  hiking  for  the 
parks  A  young  man  was  standing  by  the  bed  hold- 
ing a  cup  of  water. 

"'Doc,'  says  the  Mayor,  'I'm  awful  s'ck.  I'm 
about  to  die.     Can't  you  do  nothing  for  me?' 

"  'Mr.  Mayor,'  says  I,  'I'm  not  a  regular  pre- 
ordained disciple  of  S.  Q.  Lapius.  I  never  took  a 
course  in  a  medical  college,'  says  I.  'I've  just  come 
as  a  fellow  man  to  see  if  I  could  be  of  assistance.' 

"  'I'm  deeply  obliged,'  says  he.  'Doc  Waugh-hoo, 
this  is  my  nephew,  Mr.  Biddle.  He  has  tried  to  alle- 
viate my  distress,  but  without  success.  Oh,  Lordy! 
Ow-ow-ow !  !'  he  sings  out. 

"I  nods  at  Mr.  Biddle  and  sets  down  by  the  bed 
ind  feels  the  mayor's  pulse.  'Let  me  see  your  liver 
—  your  tongue,  I  mean,'  says  I.  Then  I  turns  up 
the  lids  of  his  eyes  and  looks  close  at  the  pupils  of 


'em. 


'"How  long  have  you  been  sick?'  I  asked. 

"  'I  was  taken  down  —  ow-ouch  —  last  night,'  says 
the  Mayor.  'Gimme  something  for  it,  doc,  won't 
you?' 


Jeff  Peters  as  a  Personal  Magnet      25 

"'Mr.  Fiddle,'  says  I,  'raise  the  window  shade  a 
bit,  will  you?' 

"  'Biddle,'  says  the  young  man.  'Do  you  feel  like 
you  could  eat  some  ham  and  eggs,  Uncle  James?' 

"  'Mr.  Mayor,'  says  I,  after  laying  my  ear  to  his 
right  shoulder  blade  and  listening,  'you've  got  a  bad 
attack  of  super-inflammation  of  the  right  clavicle  of 
the  harpsichord !' 

"'Good  Lord!'  says  he,  with  a  groan,  'Can't  you 
rub  something  on  it,  or  set  it  or  anything?' 

"I  picks  up  my  hat  and  starts  for  the  door. 

"'You  ain't  going,  doc?'  says  the  Mayor  with  a 
howl.  'You  ain't  going  away  and  leave  me  to  die 
with  this  —  superfluity  of  the  clapboards,  are  you?' 

w  'Common  humanity,  Dr.  Whoa-ha,'  says  Mr. 
Biddle,  'ought  to  prevent  your  deserting  a  fellow- 
human  in  distress.' 

"'Dr.  Waugh-hoo,  when  you  get  through  plow* 
ing,'  says  I.  And  then  I  walks  back  to  the  bed  and 
throws  back  my  long  hair. 

"  'Mr.  Mayor,'  sa}Ts  I,  'there  is  only  one  hope  for 
you.  Drugs  will  do  you  no  good.  But  there  is  an- 
other power  higher  yet,  although  drugs  are  high 
enough,'  says  I. 

"  'And  what  is  that  ?'  sa}Ts  he. 

"  'Scientific  demonstrations,'  says  I.    'The  triumph 


26  The  Gentle  Grafter 

of  mind  over  sarsaparilla.  The  belief  that  there 
is  no  pain  and  sickness  except  what  is  produced  when 
we  ain't  feeling  well.  Declare  yourself  in  arrears* 
Demonstrate/ 

"'What  is  this  paraphernalia  you  speak  of,  Doc?' 
says  the  Mayor.     'You  ain't  a  Socialist,  are  you?' 

'"I. am  speaking,'  saj's  I,  'of  the  great  doctrine 
of  psychic  financiering — of  the  enlightened  school 
of  long-distance,  sub-conscientious  treatment  of  fal- 
lacies and  meningitis  —  of  that  wonderful  in-door 
sport  known  as  personal  magnetism.' 

"'Can  3tou  work  it,  doc?'  asks  the  Mayor. 

"  'I'm  one  of  the  Sole  Sanhedrims  and  Ostensible 
Hooplas  of  the  Inner  Pulpit,'  says  I.  'The  lame  talk 
and  the  blind  rubber  whenever  I  make  a  pass  at  'em. 
I  am  a  medium,  a  coloratura  hypnotist  and  a  spiritu- 
ous control.  It  was  only  through  me  at  the  recent 
seances  at  Ann  Arbor  that  the  late  president  of  the 
Vinegar  Bitters  Company  could  revisit  the  earth  to 
communicate  with  his  sister  Jane.  You  see  me  ped- 
dling medicine  on  the  streets,'  says  I,  'to  the  poor. 
I  don't  practice  personal  magnetism  on  them.  I  do 
not  drag  it  in  the  dust,'  says  I,  'because  they  haven't 
got  the  dust.' 

"'Will  you  treat  my  case?'  asks  the  Mayor. 

"  'Listen,'  says  I.     'I've  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble 


Jeff  Peters  as  a  Personal  Magnet      27 

with  medical  societies  everywhere  I've  been.  I  don't 
practice  medicine.  But,  to  save  your  life,  I'll  give 
you  the  psychic  treatment  if  you'll  agree  as  mayor 
not  to  push  the  license  question.' 

"  'Of  course  I  will,'  says  he.  'And  now  get  to 
work,  doc,  for  them  pains  are  coming  on  again.' 

"  'My  fee  will  be  $250.00,  cure  guaranteed  in  two 
treatments,'  says  I. 

'"All  right,'  says  the  Mayor.  'I'll  pay  it.  I 
guess  my  life's  worth  that  much.' 

"I  sat  down  by  the  bed  and  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eye. 

"  'Now,'  says  I,  'get  your  mind  off  the  disease. 
You  ain't  sick.  You  haven't  got  a  heart  or  a  clavicle 
or  a  funny  bone  or  brains  or  anything.  You  haven't 
got  any  pain.  Declare  error.  Now  you  feel  the 
pain  that  you  didn't  have  leaving,  don't  you  ?' 

"  'I  do  feel  some  little  better,  doc,'  says  the  Mayor, 
'darned  if  I  don't.  Now  state  a  few  lies  about  my 
not  having  this  swelling  in  my  left  side,  and  I  think  I 
could  be  propped  up  and  have  some  sausage  and 
buckwheat  cakes.' 

"I  made  a  few  passes  with  my  hands. 

"'Now,'  says  I,  'the  inflammation's  gone.  The 
right  lobe  of  the  perihelion  has  subsided.  You're 
getting  sleepy.     You  can't  hold  your  eyes  open  any 


28  The  Gentle  Grafter 

longer.     For    the    present    the    disease    is    checked. 
Now,  you  are  asleep.' 

"The  Mayor  shut  his  eyes  slowly  and  began  to 
6nore. 

"  'You  observe,  Mr.  Tiddle,'  says  I,  'the  wonders 
of  modern  science.' 

"  'Biddle,'  says  he,  'When  will  you  give  uncle  the 
rest  of  the  treatment,  Dr.  Pooh-pooh?' 

"  'Waugh-hoo,'  says  I.  'I'll  come  back  at  eleven 
to-morrow.  When  he  wakes  up  give  him  eight  drops 
of  turpentine  and  three  pounds  of  steak.  Good 
morning.' 

"The  next  morning  I  went  back  on  time.  'Well, 
Mr.  Riddle,'  says  I,  when  he  opened  the  bedroom 
door,  'and  how  is  uncle  this  morning?' 

"  'He  seems  much  better,'  says  the  young  man. 

"The  mayor's  color  and  pulse  was  fine.  I  gave 
him  another  treatment,  and  he  said  the  last  of  the 
pain  left  him. 

"'Now,'  says  I,  'you'd  better  stay  in  bed  for  a 
day  or  two,  and  you'll  be  all  right.  It's  a  good  thing 
I  happened  to  be  in  Fisher  Hill,  Mr.  Mayor,'  says 
I,  'for  all  the  remedies  in  the  cornucopia  that  the  reg- 
ular schools  of  medicine  use  couldn't  have  saved  you. 
And  now  that  error  has  flew  and  pain  proved  a  per- 
jurer, let's  allude  to  a  cheerfuller  subject  —  say  the 


Jeff  Peters  as  a  Personal  Magnet      29 

fee  of  $250.  No  checks,  please,  I  hate  to  write  my 
name  on  the  back  of  a  check  almost  as  bad  as  I  do 
on  the  front.' 

"'I've  got  the  cash  here,'  says  the  mayor,  pulling 
a  pocket  book  from  under  his  pillow. 

"He  counts  out  five  fifty-dollar  notes   and  holds 
'em  in  his  hand. 

"'Bring  the  receipt,'  he  says  to  Biddle. 

"I  signed  the  receipt  and  the  mayor  handed  me 
the  money.     I  put  it  in  my  inside  pocket  careful. 

"  'Now  do  your  duty,  officer,'  says  the  mayor,  grin- 
ning much  unlike  a  sick  man. 

"Mr.  Biddle  lays  his  hand  on  my  arm. 

"'You're    under    arrest,    Dr.    Waugh-hoo,    alias 
Peters,'  says  he,  'for  practising  medicine  without  au- 
thority under  the  State  law.' 
'Who  are  you?'  I  asks. 

'I'll  tell  you  who  he  is,'  says  Mr.  Mayor,  sitting 
up  in  bed.  'He's  a  detective  employed  by  the  State 
Medical  Society.  He's  been  following  you  over  five 
counties.  He  came  to  me  yesterday  and  we  fixed  up 
this  scheme  to  catch  you.  I  guess  you  won't  do  any 
more  doctoring  around  these  parts,  Mr.  Fakir.  What 
was  it  you  said  I  had,  doc?'  the  mayor  laughs,  'com- 
pound —  well  it  wasn't  softening  of  the  brain,  I  guess, 
anyway.' 


MCI 

«<1 


30 


The  Gentle  Grafter 


Jeff  Peters  as  a  Personal  Magnet      31 


a 


'A  detective,'  says  I. 

"'Correct,'  says  Biddle.  'I'll  have  to  turn  you 
over  to  the  sheriff.' 

"  'Let's  see  you  do  it,'  says  I,  and  I  grabs  Biddle 
by  the  throat  and  half  throws  him  out  the  window, 
but  he  pulls  a  gun  and  sticks  it  under  my  chin,  and 
I  stand  still.  Then  he  puts  handcuffs  on  me,  and 
takes  the  money  out  of  my  pocket. 

"'I  witness,'  says  he,  'that  they're  the  same  bills 
that  you  and  I  marked,  Judge  Banks.  I'll  turn  them 
over  to  the  sheriff  when  we  get  to  his  office,  and  he'll 
send  you  a  receipt.  They'll  have  to  be  used  as  evi- 
dence in  the  case.' 

"'All  right,  Mr.  Biddle,'  says  the  mayor.  'And 
now,  Doc  Waugh-hoo,'  he  goes  on,  'why  don't  you 
demonstrate?  Can't  you  pull  the  cork  out  of  your 
magnetism  with  your  teeth  and  hocus-pocus  them 
handcuffs  off?' 

'"Come  on,  officer,'  says  I,  dignified.  'I  may  as 
well  make  the  best  of  it.'  And  then  I  turns  to  old 
Banks  and  rattles  my  chains. 

"  'Mr.  Mayor,'  says  I,  'the  time  will  come  soon 
when  you'll  believe  that  personal  magnetism  is  a  suc- 
cess. And  3'ou'll  be  sure  that  it  succeeded  in  this 
case,  too.' 

"And  I  guess  it  did. 


32  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"When  we  got  nearly  to  the  gate,  I  says:  'We 
might  meet  somebody  now,  Andy.  I  reckon  you 
better  take  'em  off,  and — '  Hey?  Why,  of  course 
it  was  Andy  Tucker.  That  was  his  scheme  \  and 
that's  how  we  got  the  capital  to  go  into  business 
together." 


MODERN  RURAL  SPORTS 

JEFF  PETERS  must  be  reminded.  Whenever  he 
is  called  upon,  pointedly,  for  a  story,  he  will  maintain 
that  his  life  has  been  as  devoid  of  incident  as  the 
longest  of  Trollope's  novels.  But  lured,  he  will  di- 
vulge. Therefore  I  cast  many  and  divers  flies  upon 
the  current  of  his  thoughts  before  I  feel  a  nibble. 

"I  notice,"  said  I,  "that  the  Western  farmers,  in 
spite  of  their  prosperity,  are  running  after  their  old 
populistic  idols  again." 

"It's  the  running  season,"  said  Jeff,  "for  farmers, 
shad,  maple  trees  and  the  Connemaugh  river.  I  know 
something  about  farmers.  I  thought  I  struck  one 
once  that  had  got  out  of  the  rut ;  but  Andy  Tucker 
proved  to  me  I  was  mistaken.  'Once  a  farmer,  al- 
ways a  sucker,'  said  Andy.  'He's  the  man  that's 
shoved  into  the  front  row  among  bullets,  ballots  and 
the  ballet.  He's  the  funny-bone  and  gristle  of  the 
country,'  said  Andy,  'and  I  don't  know  who  we  would 
do  without  him.' 

"One  morning  me  and  Andy  wakes  up  with  sixty 

33 


34  The  Gentle  Grafter 

eight  cents  between  us  in  a  yellow  pine  hotel  on  the 
edge  of  the  pre-digested  hoc-cake  belt  of  Southern 
Indiana.  How  we  got  off  the  train  there  the  night 
before  I  can't  tell  you;  for  she  went  through  the 
village  so  fast  that  what  looked  like  a  saloon  to  us 
through  the  car  window  turned  out  to  be  a  composite 
view  of  a  drug  store  and  a  water  tank  two  blocks 
apart.  Why  we  got  off  at  the  first  station  we  could, 
belongs  to  a  little  oroide  gold  watch  and  Alaska 
diamond  deal  we  failed  to  pull  off  the  day  before, 
over  the  Kentucky  line. 

"When  I  woke  up  I  heard  roosters  crowing,  and 
smelt  something  like  the  fumes  of  nitro-muriatic  acid, 
and  heard  something  heavy  fall  on  the  floor  below  us, 
and  a  man  swearing. 

"  'Cheer  up,  Andy,'  says  I.  'We're  in  a  rural 
community.  Somebody  has  just  tested  a  gold  brick 
downstairs.  We'll  go  out  and  get  what's  coming  to 
us  from  a  farmer ;  and  then  yoicks !  and  away.' 

"Farmers  was  always  a  kind  of  reserve  fund  to  me. 
Whenever  I  was  in  hard  luck  I'd  go  to  the  crossroads, 
hook  a  finger  in  a  farmer's  suspender,  recite  the  pros- 
pectus of  my  swindle  in  a  mechanical  kind  of  a  way, 
look  over  what  he  had,  give  him  back  his  keys,  whet- 
stone and  papers  that  was  of  no  value  except  to 
owner,  and  stroll  away  without  asking  any  questions. 


Modern  Rural  Sports  35 

Farmers  are  not  fair  game  to  me  as  high  up  in  our 
business  as  me  and  Andy  was ;  but  there  was  times 
when  we  found  'em  useful,  just  as  Wall  Street  does 
the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  now  and  then. 

"When  we  went  down  stairs  we  saw  we  was  in  the 
midst  of  the  finest  farming  section  we  ever  see. 
About  two  miles  away  on  a  hill  was  a  big  white  house 
in  a  grove  surrounded  by  a  wide-spread  agricultural 
agglomeration  of  fields  and  barns  and  pastures  and 
out-houses. 

"'Whose  house  is  that?'  we  asked  the  landlord. 

"  'That,'  says  he,  'is  the  domicile  and  the  arboreal, 
terrestrial  and  horticultural  accessories  of  Farmer 
Ezra  Plunkett,  one  of  our  county's  most  progressive 
citizens.' 

"After  breakfast  me  and  Andy,  with  eight  cents 
capital  left,  casts  the  horoscope  of  the  rural  potentate. 

"  'Let  me  go  alone,'  says  I.  'Two  of  us  against 
one  farmer  would  look  as  one-sided  as  Roosevelt 
using  both  hands  to  kill  a  grizzly.' 

"  'All  right,'  says  Andy.  'I  like  to  be  a  true  sport 
even  when  I'm  only  collecting  rebates  from  the  ruta- 
bag  raisers.  What  bait  are  you  going  to  use  for  tins 
Ezra  thing?'  Andy  asks  me. 

"  'Oh,'  says  I,  'the  first  thing  that  come  to  hand 
in  the  suit  case.     I  reckon  I'll  take  along  some  of  the 


36  The  Gentle  Grafter 

new  income  tax  receipts ;  and  the  recipe  for  making 
clover  honey  out  of  clabber  and  apple  peelings ;  and 
the  order  blanks  for  the  McGuffey's  readers,  which 
afterwards  turn  out  to  be  McCormick  reapers ;  and 
the  pearl  necklace  found  on  the  train ;  and  a  pocket- 
size  goldbrick;  and  a — ' 

"  'That'll  be  enough,'  says  Andj^.  'Any  one  of 
the  lot  ought  to  land  on  Ezra.  And,  say,  Jeff,  make 
that  succotash  fancier  give  you  nice,  clean,  new  bills. 
It's  a  disgrace  to  our  Department  of  Agriculture* 
Civil  Service  and  Pure  Food  Law  the  kind  of  stuff 
some  of  these  farmers  hand  out  to  us.  I've  had  to 
take  rolls  from  'em  that  looked  like  bundles  of  mi' 
crobe  cultures  captured  out  of  a  Red  Cross  ambu- 
lance.' 

"So,  I  goes  to  a  livery  stable  and  hires  a  buggy 
on  my  looks.  I  drove  out  to  the  Flunkett  farm  and 
hitched.  There  was  a  man  sitting  on  the  front  steps 
of  the  house.  He  had  on  a  white  flannel  suit,  a  dia- 
mond ring,  golf  cap  and  a  pink  ascot  tie.  'Summer 
boarder,'  says  I  to  myself. 

"  'I'd  like  to  see  Farmer  Ezra  Plunkett,'  says  I 
to  him. 

"  'You  see  him,'  says  he.  'What  seems  to  be  on 
your  mind?' 

"I  never  answered  a  word.     I  stood  still,  repeating 


Modern  Rural  Sj)orts  37 

to  myself  the  rollicking  lines  of  that  merry  jingle, 
'The  Man  with  the  Hoe.'  When  I  looked  at  this 
farmer,  the  little  devices  I  had  in  my  pocket  for 
buncoing  the  pushed-back  brows  seemed  as  hopeless 
as  trying  to  shake  down  the  Beef  Trust  with  a  mitti- 
mus and  a  parlor  rifle. 

"'Well,'  says  he,  looking  at  me  close,  'speak  up. 
I  see  the  left  pocket  of  your  coat  sags  a  good  deal. 
Out  with  the  goldbrick  first.  I'm  rather  more  inter- 
ested in  the  bricks  that  I  am  in  the  trick  sixty-day 
notes  and  the  lost  silver  mine  story.' 

"I  had  a  kind  of  cerebral  sensation  of  foolishness 
in  my  ideas  of  ratiocination;  but  I  pulled  out  the 
little  brick  and  unwrapped  my  handkerchief  off  it. 

"'One  dollar  and  eighty  cents,'  says  the  farmer 
hefting  it  in  his  hand.     'Is  it  a  trade?' 

"  'The  lead  in  it  is  worth  more  than  that,'  says  I, 
dignified.     I  put  it  back  in  my  pocket. 

"'All  right,'  savs  he.  'But  I  sort  of  wanted  it 
for  the  collection  I'm  starting.  I  got  a  $5,000  one 
last  week  for  $2.10.' 

"Just  then  a  telephone  bell  rings  in  the  house. 

'"Come  in,  Bunk,'  says  the  farmer,  'and  look  at 
my  place.  It's  kind  of  lonesome  here  sometimes.  I 
think  that's  New  York  calling.' 

"We  went  inside.     The  room  looked  like  a  Broad* 


38  The  Gentle  Grafter 

way  stockbroker's  —  light-oak  desks,  two  'phones, 
Spanish  leather  upholstered  chairs  and  couches,  oil 
paintings  in  gilt  frames  a  foot  deep  and  a  ticker 
hitting  off  the  news  in  one  corner. 

"  'Hello,  hello !'  says  this  funny  farmer.  'Is  that 
the  Regent  Theatre?  Yes ;  this  is  Plunkett,  of  Wood- 
bine Centre.  Reserve  four  orchestra  seats  for  Friday 
evening  —  my  usual  ones.     Yes  ;  Friday  —  good-bye.' 

"  'I  run  over  to  New  York  every  two  weeks  to  see 
a  show,'  says  the  farmer,  hanging  up  the  receiver. 
'I  catch  the  eighteen-hour  flyer  at  Indianapolis,  spend 
ten  hours  in  the  heyday  of  night  on  the  Yappian 
.  Way,  and  get  home  in  time  to  see  the  chickens  go  to 
roost  forty-eight  hours  later.  Oh,  the  pristine  Hub- 
bard squasherino  of  the  cave-dwelling  period  is  get- 
ting geared  up  some  for  the  annual  meeting  of  the 
Don't-Blow-Out-the-Gas  Association,  don't  you 
think,   Mr.   Bunk?' 

"  'I  seem  to  perceive,'  says  I,  'a  kind  of  hiatus 
in  the  agrarian  traditions  in  which  heretofore,  I  have 
reposed  confidence.' 

"  'Sure,  Bunk,'  says  he.  'The  yellow  primrose  on 
the  river's  brim  is  getting  to  look  to  us  Reubs  like 
a  holiday  edition  de  luxe  of  the  Language  of  Flowers 
with  deckle  edges  and  frontispiece.' 

"Just  then  the  telephone  calls  him  again. 


Modern  Rural  Sjwrts  39 

"'Hello,  hello!'  says  he.  'Oh,  that's  Perkins,  at 
Milldale.  I  told  you  $800  was  too  much  for  that 
horse.  Have  you  got  him  there?  Good.  Let  me 
see  him.  Get  away  from  the  transmitter.  Now 
make  him  trot  in  a  circle.  Faster.  Yes,  I  can  hear 
him.  Keep  on  —  faster  yet.  .  .  .  That'll  do.  Now 
lead  him  up  to  the  phone.  Closer.  Get  his  nose 
nearer.  There.  Now  wait.  No  ;  I  don't  want  that 
horse.  What?  No;  not  at  any  price.  He  inter- 
feres ;  and  he's  windbroken.     Goodbye.' 

"'Now,  Bunk,'  says  the  farmer,  'do  you  begin 
to  realize  that  agriculture  has  had  a  hair  cut?  You 
belong  in  a  bygone  era.  Why,  Tom  L'awson  himself 
knows  better  than  to  try  to  catch  an  up-to-date  ag- 
riculturist napping.  It's  Saturday,  the  Fourteenth, 
on  the  farm,  you  bet.  Now,  look  here,  and  see  how 
we  keep  up  with  the  day's  doings.' 

"He  shows  me  a  machine  on  a  table  with  two 
things  for  your  ears  like  the  penny-in-the-slot  affairs. 
I  puts  it  on  and  listens.  A  female  voice  starts  up 
reading  headlines  of  murders,  accidents  and  other 
political   casualties. 

"  'What  you  hear,'  says  the  farmer,  'is  a  synopsis 
of  to-day's  news  in  the  New  York,  Chicago,  St.  Louis 
and  San  Francisco  papers.  It  is  wired  in  to  our 
Rural  News  Bureau  and  served  hot  to  subscribers. 


40  The  Gentle  Grafter 

On  this  table  you  see  the  principal  dailies  and  weeklies 
of  the  country.  Also  a  special  service  of  advance 
sheets  of  the  monthly  magazines.' 

"I  picks  up  one  sheet  and  sees  that  it's  headed: 
'Special  Advance  Proofs.  In  July,  1909,  the  Cen- 
iury  will  say' — and  so  forth. 

"The  farmer  rings  up  somebody  —  his  manager, 
I  reckon  —  and  tells  him  to  let  that  herd  of  15  Jerseys 
go  at  $600  a  head;  and  to  sow  the  900-acre  field  in 
wheat ;  and  to  have  200  extra  cans  ready  at  the  sta- 
tion for  the  milk  trolley  car.  Then  he  passes  the 
Henry  Clays  and  sets  out  a  bottle  of  green  chart- 
reuse, and  goes  over  and  looks  at  the  ticker  tape. 

"'Consolidated  Gas  up  two  points,'  says  he.  'Oh, 
very  well.' 

'Ever  monkey  with  copper?'  I  asks. 
'Stand  back !'  says  he,  raising  his  hand,  'or  I'll 
call  the  dog.     I  told  you  not  to  waste  }7our  time.' 

"After  a  while  he  says:  'Bunk,  if  you  don't  mind 
my  telling  you,  your  compan}'  begins  to  cloy  slightly. 
I've  got  to  write  an  article  on  the  Chimera  of  Com- 
munism for  a  magazine,  and  attend  a  meeting  of  the 
Race  Track  Association  tin's  afternoon.  Of  course 
you  understand  by  now  that  you  can't  get  my  proxy 
for  your  Remedy,  whatever  it  may  be.' 

"Well,  sir,  all  I  could  think  of  to  do  was  to  go 


"'] 


Modern  Rural  Sports  41 

out  and  get  in  the  buggy.  The  horse  turned  round 
and  took  me  back  to  the  hotel.  I  hitched  him  and 
went  in  to  see  Andy.  In  his  room  I  told  him  about 
this  farmer,  word  for  word ;  and  I  sat  picking  at  the 
table  cover  like  one  bereft  of  sagaciousness. 

"  'I  don't  understand  it,'  says  I,  humming  a  sad 
and  foolish  little  song  to  cover  my  humiliation. 

"Andy  walks  up  and  down  the  room  for  a  long 
time,  biting  the  left  end  of  his  mustache  as  he  does 
when  in  the  act  of  thinking. 

"'Jeff,'  says  he,  finally,  'I  believe  your  story  of 
this  expurgated  rustic ;  but  I  am  not  convinced.  It 
looks  incredulous  to  me  that  he  could  have  inoculated 
himself  against  all  the  preordained  systems  of  bucolic 
bunco.  Now,  you  never  regarded  me  as  a  man  of  spe- 
cial religious  proclivities,  did  you,  Jeff?'  says  Andy. 

"  'Well,'  says  I,  'No.  But,'  says  I,  not  to  wound 
his  feelings,  'I  have  also  observed  many  church  mem- 
bers whose  said  proclivities  were  not  so  outwardly 
developed  that  they  would  show  on  a  white  handker- 
chief if  you  rubbed  'em  with  it.' 

'"I  have  alwaj's  been  a  deep  student  of  nature 
from  creation  down,'  says  Andy,  'and  I  believe  in 
an  ultimatum  design  of  Providence.  Farmers  was 
made  for  a  purpose ;  and  that  was  to  furnish  a  liveli- 
hood to  men  like  me  and  you.     Else  why  was  we  given 


42  The  Gentle  Grafter 

brains?  It  is  my  belief  that  the  manna  that  the  Is- 
raelites lived  on  for  forty  years  in  the  wilderness  was 
only  a  figurative  word  for  farmers ;  and  they  kept  up 
the  practice  to  this  day.  And  now,'  says  Andy,  'I 
am  going  to  test  my  theory  "Once  a  farmer,  always  a 
come-on,"  in  spite  of  the  veneering  and  the  orifices 
that  a  spurious  civilization  has  brought  to  him.' 

"'You'll  fail,  same  as  I  did,'  says  I.  'This  one's 
shook  off  the  shackles  of  the  sheep-fold.  He's  en- 
trenched behind  the  advantages  of  electricity,  educa- 
tion, literature  and  intelligence.' 

"  'I'll  try,'  said  Andy.  'There  are  certain  Laws 
of  Nature  that  Free  Rural  Delivery  can't  overcome.' 

"Andy  fumbles  around  awhile  in  the  closet  and 
comes  out  dressed  in  a  suit  with  brown  and  yellow 
checks  as  big  as  your  hand.  His  vest  is  red  with  blue 
dots,  and  he  wears  a  high  silk  hat.  I  noticed  he'd 
soaked  his  sandy  mustache  in  a  kind  of  blue  ink. 

'"Great  Barnums?'  says  I.  'You're  a  ringer  for 
a  circus  thimblerig  man.' 

"'Right,'  says  Andy.  'Is  the  buggy  outside? 
Wait  here  till  I  come  back.     I  won't  be  long.' 

"Two  hours  afterwards  Andy  steps  in  the  room 
and  lays  a  wad  of  money  on  the  table. 

"  'Eight  hundred  and  sixty  dollars,'  said  he.     'Let 


Modern  Bural  Sports  43 

me  tell  you.  He  was  in.  He  looked  me  over  and 
began  to  guy  me.  I  didn't  say  a  word,  but  got  out 
the  walnut  shells  and  began  to  roll  the  little  ball 
on  the  table.  I  whistled  a  tune  or  two,  and  then 
I  started  up  the  old  formula. 

"'Step  up  lively,  gentlemen,'  says  I,  'and  watch 
the  little  ball.  It  costs  you  nothing  to  look.  There 
you  see  it,  and  there  you  don't.  Guess  where  the  little 
joker  is.     The  quickness  of  the  hand  deceives  the  eye.' 

'"I  steals  a  look  at  the  farmer  man.  I  see  the 
sweat  coming  out  on  his  forehead.  He  goes  over  and 
closes  the  front  door  and  watches  me  some  more. 
Directly  he  says:  "I'll  bet  you  twent}'  I  can  pick 
the  shell  the  ball's  under  now." 

"'After  that,'  goes  on  Andy,  'there  is  nothing 
new  to  relate.  He  only  had  $860  in  cash  in  the 
house.  When  I  left  he  followed  me  to  the  gate. 
There  was  tears  in  his  eyes  when  he  shook  hands. 

"'"Bunk,"'  says  he,  '"thank  you  for  the  onlv 
real  pleasure  I've  had  in  years.  It  brings  up  happy 
old  days  when  I  was  only  a    '  an  agri- 

culturist.    God  bless  you.'"" 

Here  Jeff  Peters  ceased,  and  I  inferred  that  his 
story  was  done. 

"Then  you  think" — I  began. 


44  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"Yes,"  said  Jeff.  "Something  like  that.  You  let 
the  farmers  go  ahead  and  amuse  themselves  with  poli- 
tics. Farming's  a  lonesome  life;  and  they've  been 
against  the  shell  game  before." 


THE  CHAIR  OF  PHILANTHROMATHE- 

MATICS 

I  SEE  that  the  cause  of  Education  has  received 
the  princely  gift  of  more  than  fifty  millions  of  dol- 
lars," said  I. 

I  was  gleaming  the  stray  items  from  the  evening 
papers  while  Jeff  Peters  packed  his  briar  pipe  with 
plug  cut. 

"Which  same,"  said  Jeff,  "calls  for  a  new  deck, 
and  a  recitation  by  the  entire  class  in  philanthro- 
mathematics." 

"Is  that  an  allusion?"  I  asked. 

"It  is,"  said  Jeff.  "I  never  told  you  about  the 
time  when  me  and  Andy  Tucker  was  philanthropists, 
did  I?  It  was  eight  years  ago  in  Arizona.  Andy 
and  me  was  out  in  the  Gila  mountains  with  a  two- 
horse  wagon  prospecting  for  silver.  We  struck  it, 
and  sold  out  to  parties  in  Tucson  for  $25,000.  They 
paid  our  check  at  the  bank  in  silver  —  a  thousand 

dollars  in  a  sack.     We  loaded  it  in  our  wagon  and 

45 


46  he  Gentle  Grafter 

drove  cast  a  hundred  miles  before  we  recovered  our 
presence  of  intellect.  Twenty-five  thousand  dollars 
don't  sound  like  so  much  when  you're  reading  the 
annual  report  of  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad  or  listen- 
ing to  an  actor  talking  about  his  salary ;  but  when 
you  can  raise  up  a  wagon  sheet  and  kick  around  your 
bootheel  and  hear  every  one  of  'em  ring  against 
another  it  makes  you  feel  like  you  was  a  night-and- 
day  bank  with  the  clock  striking  twelve. 

"The  third  day  out  we  drove  into  one  of  the  most 
specious  and  tidy  little  towns  that  Nature  or  Rand 
and  McNally  ever  turned  out.  It  was  in  the  foot- 
hills, and  mitigated  with  trees  and  flowers  and  about 
2,000  head  of  cordial  and  dilatory  inhabitants.  The 
town  seemed  to  be  called  Floresville,  and  Nature  had 
not  contaminated  it  with  many  railroads,  fleas  or 
Eastern  tourists. 

"Me  and  Andy  deposited  our  money  to  the  credit 
of  Peters  and  Tucker  in  the  Esperanza  Savings  Bank, 
and  got  rooms  at  the  Skyview  Hotel.  After  supper 
we  lit  up,  and  sat  out  on  the  gallery  and  smoked. 
Then  was  when  the  philanthropy  idea  struck  me.  I 
suppose  every  grafter  gets   it  sometime. 

"When  a  man  swindles  the  public  out  of  a  certain 
amount  he  begins  to  get  scared  and  wants  to  return 
part  of  it.     And  if  you'll  watch  close  and  notice  the 


The  Chair  of  Pliilanthromatliematics     47 

way  his  charity  runs  you'll  sue  that  he  tries  to  restore 
it  to  the  same  people  he  got  it  from.  As  a  hydro- 
statical  case,  take,  let's  say,  A.  A  made  his  millions 
selling  oil  to  poor  students  who  sit  up  nights  studying 
political  economy  and  methods  for  regulating  the 
trusts.  So,  back  to  the  universities  and  colleges 
goes  his  conscience  dollars. 

''There's  B  got  his  from  the  common  laboring  man 
that  works  with  his  hands  and  tools.  How's  he  to 
get  some  of  the  remorse  fund  back  into  their  over- 
alls? 

"'Aha!'  says  B,  Til  do  it  in  the  name  of  Edu- 
cation. I've  skinned  the  laboring  man,'  says  he  to 
himself,  'but,  according  to  the  old  proverb,  "Charity 
covers  a  multitude  of  skins." ' 

"So  he  puts  up  eighty  million  dollars'  worth  of 
libraries ;  and  the  boys  with  the  dinner  pail  that 
builds  'em  gets  the  benefit. 

"'Where's  the  books?'  asks  the  reading  public. 

"'I  dinna  ken,'  says  B.  'I  offered  ye  libraries; 
and  there  they  are.  I  suppose  if  I'd  given  ye  pre- 
ferred steel  trust  stock  instead  ye'd  have  wanted  the 
water  in  it  set  out  in  cut  glass  decanters.     Hoot,  for 


ye!' 


"But,  as  I  said,  the  owning  of  .  h  money  was 

beginning  to   give  me  philanthropies.     It   was   the 


48  The  Gentle  Grafter 

first  time  me  and  Andy  had  ever  made  a  pile  big 
enough  to  make  us  stop  and  think  how  we  got  it. 

"'Andy,'  says  I,  'we're  wealthy  —  not  beyond  the 
dreams  of  average ;  but  in  our  humble  way  we  are 
comparatively  as  rich  as  Greasers.  I  feel  as  if  I'd 
like  to  do  something  for  as  well  as  to  humanity.' 

"  'I  was  thinking  the  same  thing,  Jeff,'  says  he. 
'We've  been  gouging  the  public  for  a  long  time  with 
all  kinds  of  little  schemes  from  selling  self-igniting 
celluloid  collars  to  flooding  Georgia  with  Hoke  Smith 
presidential  campaign  buttons.  I'd  like,  myself,  to 
hedge  a  bet  or  two  in  the  graft  game  if  I  could  do 
it  without  actually  banging  the  cymbalines  in  the 
Salvation  Army  or  teaching  a  bible  class  by  the 
Bertillon  system.' 

" ' What'll  we  do  ?'  says  Andy.  'Give  free  grub 
to  the  poor  or  send  a  couple  of  thousand  to  George 
Cortelyou?' 

"  'Neither,'  says  I.  'We've  got  too  much  money 
to  be  implicated  in  plain  charity ;  and  we  haven't  got 
enough  to  make  restitution.  So,  we'll  look  about  for 
something  that's  about  half  way  between  the  two.' 

"The  next  day  in  walking  around  Floresville  we 
see  on  a  hill  a  big  red  brick  building  that  appears  to 
be  disinhabited.  The  citizens  speak  up  and  tell  us 
that  it  was  begun  for  a  residence  several  years  before 


The  Chair  of  Philanthromathcmatics     49 

by  a  mine  owner.  After  running  up  the  house  he 
finds  he  only  had  $2.80  left  to  furnish  it  with,  so  he 
invests  that  in  whiskey  and  jumps  off  the  roof  on  a 
spot  where  he  now  requiescats  in  pieces. 

"As  soon  as  me  and  Andy  saw  that  building  the 
same  idea  struck  both  of  us.  We  would  fix  it  up 
with  lights  and  pen  wipers  and  professors,  and  put  an 
iron  dog  and  statues  of  Hercules  and  Father  John 
on  the  lawn,  and  start  one  of  the  finest  free  educa- 
tional institutions  in  the  world  right  there. 

"So  we  talks  it  over  to  the  prominent  citizens  of 
Floresville,  who  falls  in  fine  with  the  idea.  They  give 
a  banquet  in  the  engine  house  to  us,  and  we  make  our 
bow  for  the  first  time  as  benefactors  to  the  cause  of 
progress  and  enlightenment.  Andy  makes  an  hour- 
and-a-half  speech  on  the  subject  of  irrigation  in 
Lower  Egypt,  and  we  have  a  moral  tune  on  the 
phonograph  and  pineapple  sherbet. 

"Andy  and  me  didn't  lose  any  time  in  philan- 
thropping.  We  put  every  man  in  town  that  could 
tell  a  hammer  from  a  step  ladder  to  work  on  the 
building,  dividing  it  up  into  class  rooms  and  lecture 
halls.  We  wire  to  Frisco  for  a  car  load  of  desks, 
footballs,  arithmetics,  penholders,  dictionaries,  chairs 
for  the  professors,  slates,  skeletons,  sponges,  twenty- 
seven  cravenetted  gowns  and  caps  for  the  senior  class, 


50  The  Gentle  Grafter 

and  an  open  order  for  all  the  truck  that  goes  with 
a  first-class  university.  I  took  it  on  myself  to  put 
a  campus  and  a  curriculum  on  the  list;  but  the  tele- 
graph operator  must  have  got  the  words  wrong, 
being  an  ignorant  man,  for  when  the  goods  come  we 
found  a  can  of  peas  and  a  curry-comb  among  'em. 

"While  the  weekly  papers  was  having  chalk-plate 
cuts  of  me  and  Andy  we  wired  an  employment  agency 
in  Chicago  to  express  us  f.  o.  b.,  six  professors  im- 
mediately—  one  English  literature,  one  up-to-date 
dead  languages,  one  chemistry,  one  political  economy 
—  democrat  preferred  —  one  logic,  and  one  wise  to 
painting,  Italian  and  music,  with  union  card.  The 
Esperanza  bank  guaranteed  salaries,  which  was  to 
run  between  $800  and  $800.50. 

"Well,  sir,  we  finally  got  in  shape.  Over  the  front 
door  was  carved  the  words:  'The  World's  Univer- 
sity; Peters  Si  Tucker,  Patrons  and  Proprietors.' 
And  when  September  the  first  got  a  cross-mark  on  the 
calendar,  the  come-ons  begun  to  roll  in.  First  the 
faculty  got  off  the  tri-weekly  ess  from  Tucson. 

They  was  mostly  young,  spectacled  and  red-headed, 
with  sentiments  1  between  ambition  and  food. 

Andy  and  me  got  'em  billeted  on  the  Floresvillians 
and  then  laid  for  the  students. 

"They  came  in  bunches.     W<?  had  advertised  the 


The  Chair  of  Pldlanthromathematlcs     51 

University  in  all  the  state  papers,  and  it  did  us  good 
to  see  how  quick  the  country  responded.  Two  hun- 
dred and  nineteen  husky  lads  aging  along  from  18 
up  to  chin  whiskers  answered  the  clarion  call  of  free 
education.  They  ripped  open  that  town,  sponged  the 
seams,  turned  it,  lined  it  with  new  mohair ;  and  you 
couldn't  have  told  it  from  Harvard  or  Goldfields  at 
the  March  term  of  court. 

"They  marched  up  and  down  the  streets  waving 
flags  with  the  World's  University  colors  - — ultra- 
marine and  blue  —  and  they  certainly  made  a  lively 
place  of  Floresville.  Andy  made  them  a  speech  from 
the  balcony  of  the  Skyview  Hotel,  and  the  whole  town 
was  out  celebrating. 

"In  about  two  weeks  the  professors  got  the  stu- 
dents disarmed  and  herded  into  classes.  I  don't  be- 
lieve there's  any  pleasure  equal  to  being  a  philanthro- 
pist. Me  and  Andy  bought  high  silk  hats  and  pre- 
tended to  dodge  the  two  reporters  of  the  Floresville 
Gazette.  The  paper  had  a  man  to  kodak  us  whenever 
we  appeared  on  the  street,  and  ran  our  pictures  every 
week  over  the  column  headed  'Educational  Notes.' 
Andy  lectured  twice  a  week  at  the  University ;  and 
afterward  I  would  rise  and  tell  a  humorous  story. 
Once  the  Gazette  printed  ray  pictures  with  Abe  Lin- 
coln on  one  side  and  Marshall  P.  Wilder  on  the  other. 


52  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"Andy  was  as  interested  in  philanthropy  as  I  was. 
We  used  to  wake  up  of  nights  and  tell  each  other 
new   ideas   for  booming  the  University. 

"  'Andy,'  says  I  to  him  one  day,  'there's  some- 
thing we  overlooked.  The  boys  ought  to  have  drome- 
daries.' 

'"What's  that?'  Andy  asks. 

"  'Why,  something  to  sleep  in,  of  course,'  says  I. 
'All   colleges   have   'em.' 

'"Oh,  you  mean  pajamas,'  says  Andy. 

"  'I  do  not,'  saj^s  I.  'I  mean  dromedaries.'  But 
I  never  could  make  Andy  understand ;  so  we  never 
ordered  'em.  Of  course,  I  meant  them  long  bed- 
rooms in  colleges  where  the  scholars  sleep  in  a  row. 

"Well,  sir,  the  World's  University  was  a  success. 
We  had  scholars  from  five  States  and  territories,  and 
Floresville  had  a  boom.  A  new  shooting  gallery  and 
a  pawn  shop  and  two  more  saloons  started ;  and  the 
boys  got  up  a  college  yell  that  went  this  way: 

"  'Raw,  raw,  raw, 

Done,  done,  done, 
Peters,  Tucker, 

Lots  of  fun. 
Bow-wow-wow, 

Haw-hee-haw, 
World  University 

Hip,  hurrah!" 


The  Chair  of  Philanthromathematics     53 

"The  scholars  was  a  fine  lot  of  young  men,  and 
me  and  Andy  was  as  proud  of  'em  as  if  they  belonged 
to  our  own  family. 

"But  one  day  about  the  last  of  October  Andy 
come  to  me  and  asks  if  I  have  any  idea  how  much 
money  we  had  left  in  the  bank.  I  guesses  about 
sixteen  thousand.  'Our  balance,'  says  Andy,  'is 
$821.62.' 

"  'What !'  says  I,  with  a  kind  of  a  yell.  'Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  them  infernal  clod-hopping, 
dough-headed,  pup-faced,  goose-brained,  gate-steal- 
ing, rabbit-eared  sons  of  horse  thieves  have  soaked 
us  for  that  much?' 

"'No  less,'  says  Andy. 

"  'Then,  to  Helvetia  with  philanthropy,'   saj^s  I. 

"'Not  necessarily,'  says  Andy.  'Philanthropy,' 
says  he,  'when  run  on  a  good  business  basis  is  one 
of  the  best  grafts  going.  I'll  look  into  the  matter 
and  see  if  it  can't  be  straightened  out.' 

"The  next  week  I  am  looking  over  the  payroll  of 
our  faculty  when  I  run  across  a  new  name  —  Pro- 
fessor James  Darnley  McCorkle,  chair  of  mathe- 
matics ;  salary  $100  per  week.  I  yells  so  loud  that 
Andy  runs  in  quick. 

"'What's  this,'  says  I.  'A  professor  of  mathe- 
matics at  more  than  $5,000  a  year?     How  did  this 


54  The  Gentle  Grafter 

happen?  Did  he  get  in  through  the  window  and 
appoint  himself?' 

"  'I  wired  to  Frisco  for  him  a  week  ago,'  says 
Andy.  'In  ordering  the  faculty  we  seemed  to  have 
overlooked   the   chair   of   mathematics.' 

"  'A  good  thing  we  did,'  says  I.  'We  can  pay 
his  salary  two  weeks,  and  then  our  philanthropy  will 
look  like  the  ninth  hole  on  the  Skibo  golf  links.' 

'"Wait  a  while,'  says  Andy,  'and  see  how  things 
turn  out.  We  have  taken  up  too  noble  a  cause  to 
draw  out  now.  Besides,  the  further  I  gaze  into  the 
retail  philanthropy  business  the  better  it  looks  to  me. 
I  never  thought  about  investigating  it  before.  Come 
to  think  of  it  now,'  goes  on  Andy,  'all  the  phil- 
anthropists I  ever  knew  had  plenty  of  money.  I 
ought  to  have  locked  into  that  matter  long  ago,  and 
located  which  was  the  cause  and  which  was  the  effect.' 

"I  had  confidence  in  Andy's  chicanery  in  finan- 
cial affairs,  so  I  left  the  whole  thing  in  his  hands. 
The  University  was  flourishing  fine,  and  me  and  Andy 
kept  cur  silk  hats  shined  up,  and  Floresville  kept 
on  heaping  honors  on  us  like  we  was  millionaires  in- 
stead  of  almost  busted  philanthropists. 

"The  students  kept  the  town  lively  and  prosper- 
ous. Some  stranger  came  to  town  and  started  a  faro 
bank  over  the  Red  Froot  livery  stable,  and  began  to 


The  Chair  of  Philanthromatlicmatics     55 

amass  money  in  quantities.  Me  and  Andy  strolled 
up  one  night  and  piked  a  dollar  or  two  for  socia- 
bility. There  were  about  fifty  of  our  students  there 
drinking  rum  punches  and  shoving  high  stacks  of 
blues  and  reds  about  the  table  as  the  dealer  turned 
the  cards  up. 

"  'Why,  dang  it,  Andy,'  says  I,  'these  free-school- 
hunting,  gander-headed,  silk-socked  little  sons  of  sap- 
suckers  have  got  more  monev  than  you  and  me  ever 
had.  Look  at  the  rolls  they're  pulling  out  of  their 
pistol  pockets?' 

"  'Yes,'  says  Andy,  'a  good  many  of  them  are 
sons  of  wealthy  miners  and  stockmen.  It's  very  sad 
to  see  'em  wasting  their  opportunities  this  way.' 

"At  Christmas  all  the  students  went  home  to  spend 
the  holidays.  We  had  a  farewell  blowout  at  the 
University,  and  Andy  lectured  on  'Modern  Music 
and  Prehistoric  Literature  of  the  Archipelagos.' 
Each  one  of  the  faculty  answered  to  toasts,  and  com- 
pared me  and  Andy  to  Rockefeller  and  the  Emperor 
Marcus  Autolvcus.  I  pounded  on  the  table  and 
yelled  for  Professor  McCorkle ;  but  it  seems  he  wasn't 
present  on  the  occasion.  I  wanted  a  look  at  the 
man  that  Andy  thought  could  earn  $100  a  week  in 
philanthropy  that  was  on  the  point  of  making  an 
assignment. 


56  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"The  students  all  left  on  the  night  train;  and  the 
town  sounded  as  quiet  as  the  campus  of  a  correspond- 
ence school  at  midnight.  When  I  went  to  the  hotel 
I  saw  a  light  in  Andy's  room,  and  I  opened  the  door 
and  walked  in. 

"There  sat  Andj"  and  the  faro  dealer  at  a  table 
dividing  a  two-foot  high  stack  of  currency  in  thou- 
sand-dollar packages. 

"'Correct,'  says  Andy.  *Thirty-one  thousand 
Rpiece.  Come  in,  Jeff,'  says  he.  'This  is  our  share 
of  the  profits  of  the  first  half  of  the  scholastic  term 
of  the  World's  University,  incorporated  and  philan- 
thropated.  Are  you  convinced  now,'  says  Andy, 
'that  philanthropy  when  practiced  in  a  business  way 
is  an  art  that  blesses  hkn  who  gives  as  well  as  him 
who  receives  ?' 

"  'Great !'  says  I,  feeling  fine.  'I'll  admit  you  are 
the  doctor  this  time.' 

"  'We'll  be  leaving  on  the  morning  train,'  says 
Andy.  'You'd  better  get  your  collars  and  cuffs  and 
press  clippings  together.' 

"  'Great !'  says  I.  'I'll  be  ready.  But,  Andy,' 
says  I,  'I  wish  I  could  have  met  that  Professor  James 
Darnley  McCorkle  before  we  went.  I  had  a  curiosity 
to  know  that  man.' 


The  Chair  of  PMlanthromathematics     57 

"  'That'll  be  easy,'  says  Andy,  turning  around  to 
the  faro  dealer. 

"'Jim,'  says  Andy,  'shake  hands  with  Mr 
Peters.' " 


THE  HAND  THAT  RILES  THE  WORLD 

MANY  of  our  great  men,"  said  I  (apropos  of 
many  things),  "have  declared  that  they  owe  their 
success  to  the  aid  and  encouragement  of  some  bril- 
liant woman." 

"I  know,"  said  Jeff  Peters.  "I've  read  in  his- 
tory and  mythology  about  Joan  of  Arc  and  Mme„ 
Yale  and  Mrs.  Caudle  and  Eve  and  other  noted 
females  of  the  past.  But,  in  my  opinion,  the  woman 
of  to-da}'  is  of  little  use  in  politics  or  business. 
What's  she  best  in,  anyway?  —  men  make  the  best 
cooks,  milliners,  nurses,  housekeepers,  stenographers, 
clerks,  hairdressers  and  launderers.  About  the  only 
job  left  that  a  woman  can  beat  a  man  in  is  female 
impersonator  in  vaudeville. 

"I  would  have  thought,"  said  I,  "that  occasion- 
ally, anyhow,  3Tou  would  have  found  the  wit  and 
intuition  of  woman  valuable  to  3'ou  in  your  lines  of- 
er-business." 

"Now,  wouldn't  you,"  said  Jeff,  with  an  emphatic 
nod — "wouldn't  you  have  imagined  that?  But  a 
woman  is  an  absolutely  unreliable  partner  in  any 

53 


The  Hand  that  Biles  the  World       59 


Selling  walking  canes." 


60  The  Gentle  Grafter 

straight  swindle.  She's  liable  to  turn  honest  on  you 
when  you  are  depending  upon  her  the  most.  I  tried 
'em  once." 

"Bill  Humble,  an  old  friend  of  mine  in  the  Terri- 
tories, conceived  the  illusion  that  he  wanted  to  be  ap- 
pointed United  States  Marshal.  At  that  time  me 
and  Andy  was  doing  a  square,  legitimate  business  of 
selling  walking  canes.  If  you  unscrewed  the  head 
of  one  and  turned  it  up  to  your  mouth  a  half  pint  of 
good  rye  whiskey  would  go  trickling  down  your 
throat  to  reward  you  for  your  act  of  intelligence. 
The  deputies  was  annoying  me  and  Andy  some,  and 
when  Bill  spoke  to  me  about  his  officious  aspirations, 
I  saw  how  the  appointment  as  Marshal  might  help 
along  the  firm  of  Peters  &  Tucker. 

" ' Jeff,'  says  BiH  to  me,  'you  are  a  man  of  learn- 
ing and  education,  besides  having  knowledge  and  in- 
formation concerning  not  only  rudiments  but  facts 
and  attainments.' 

"  'I  do,'  says  I,  'and  I  have  never  regretted  it. 
I  am  not  one,'  says  I,  'who  would  cheapen  education 
by  making  it  free.  Tell  me,'  says  I,  'which  is  of  the 
most  value  to  mankind,  literature  or  horse  racing?' 

'"Why  —  er — ,  playing  the  po  —  I  mean,  of 
course,  the  poets  and  the  great  writers  have  got  the 
call,  of  course,'  says  Bill, 


The  Hand  that  Biles  the  World      61 


«<i 


'Exactly,'  says  I.  'Then  why  do  the  master 
minds  of  finance  and  philanthropy,'  says  I,  'charge 
us  $2  to  get  into  a  race-track  and  let  us  into  a  library 


" '  I'm  a  plain  citizen;  and  I  need  the  job.' ' 

free?  Is  that  distilling  into  the  masses,'  says  I,  'a 
correct  estimate  of  the  relative  value  of  the  two  means 
of  self-culture  and  disorder?' 

'You   are   arguing  outside   of   my   faculties   of 


a  i- 


62  The  Gentle  Grafter 

sense  and  rhetoric,'  says  Bill.  'What  I  wanted  you 
to  do  is  to  go  to  Washington  and  dig  out  this  ap- 
pointment for  me.  I  haven't  no  ideas  of  cultivation 
and  intrigue.  I'm  a  plain  citizen  and  I  need  the 
job.  I've  killed  seven  men,'  says  Bill;  'I've  got 
nine  children ;  I've  been  a  good  Republican  ever 
since  the  first  of  May ;  I  can't  read  nor  write,  and  I 
see  no  reason  why  I  ain't  illegible  for  the  office.  And 
I  think  your  partner,  Mr.  Tucker,'  goes  on  Bill,  'is 
also  a  man  of  sufficient  ingratiation  and  connected 
system  of  mental  delinquency  to  assist  3rou  in  se- 
curing the  appointment.  I  will  give  you  prelim- 
inary,' says  Bill,  '$1,000  for  drinks,  bribes  and  car- 
fare in  Washington.  If  you  land  the  job  I  will 
pay  you  $1,000  more,  cash  down,  and  guarantee 
you  impunity  in  boot-legging  whiskey  for  twelve 
months.  Are  }'ou  patriotic  to  the  West  enough  to 
help  me  put  this  thing  through  the  Whitewashed 
Wigwam  of  the  Great  Father  of  the  most  eastern 
flag  station  of  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad?'  says  Bill. 
"Well,  I  talked  to  Andy  about  it,  and  he  liked 
the  idea  immense.  Andy  was  a  man  of  an  involved 
nature.  He  was  never  content  to  plod  along,  as  I 
was,  selling  to  the  peasantry  some  little  tool  like  a 
combination  steak  beater,  shoe  horn,  marcel  waver, 
monkey  wrench,  nail  file,  potato  masher  and  Multum 


The  Hand  that  Files  the  World       63 

in  Parvo  tuning  fork.  Andy  had  the  artistic  temper, 
which  is  not  to  be  judged  as  a  preacher's  or  a  moral 
man's  is  by  purely  commercial  deflections.  So  we 
accepted  Bill's  offer,  and  strikes  out  for  Washing- 
ton. 

"Says  I  to  Andy,  when  we  get  located  at  a  hotel 
on  South  Dakota  Avenue,  G.  S.  S.  W.  'Now  Andy, 
for  the  first  time  in  our  lives  we've  got  to  do  a  real 
dishonest  act.  Lobbying  is  something  we've  never 
been  used  to;  but  we've  got  to  scandalize  ourselves 
for  Bill  Humble's  sake.  In  a  straight  and  legitimate 
business,'  says  I,  'we  could  afford  to  introduce  a  little 
foul  play  and  chicanery,  but  in  a  disorderly  and  hein- 
ous piece  of  malpractice  like  this  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  straightforward  and  aboveboard  way  is  the  best. 
I  propose,'  says  I,  'that  we  hand  over  $500  of  this 
money  to  the  chairman  of  the  national  campaign  com- 
mittee, get  a  receipt,  lay  the  receipt  on  the  President's 
desk  and  tell  him  about  Bill.  The  President  is  a  man 
who  would  appreciate  a  candidate  who  went  about 
getting  office  that  way  instead  of  pulling  wires. 

"Andy  agreed  with  me,  but  after  we  talked  the 
scheme  over  with  the  hotel  clerk  we  give  that  plan  up. 
He  told  us  that  there  was  only  one  way  to  get  an  ap- 
pointment in  Washington,  and  that  was  through  a 
lady  lobbyist.     He  gave  us  the  address  of  one  he 


64  The  Gentle  Grafter 

recommended,  a  ?>Irs.  Avery,  who  he  said  was  high 
up  in  sociable  and  diplomatic  rings  and  circles. 

"The  next  morning  at  10  o'clock  me  and  Andy 
called  at  her  hotel,  and  was  shown  up  to  her  recep- 
tion room. 

"This  Mrs.  Avery  was  a  solace  and  a  balm  to  the 
eyesight.  She  had  hair  the  color  of  the  back  of  a 
twenty  dollar  gold  certificate,  blue  eyes  and  a  system 
of  beauty  that  would  make  the  girl  on  the  cover  of 
a  July  magazine  look  like  a  cook  on  a  Monongahela 
coal  barge. 

"She  had  on  a  low  necked  dress  covered  with  silver 
spangles,  and  diamond  rings  and  ear  bobs.  Her  arms 
was  bare;  and  she  was  using  a  desk  telephone  with 
one  hand,  and  drinking  tea  with  the  other. 

"'Well,  boys,'  says  she  after  a  bit,  'what  is  it?' 

"I  told  her  in  as  few  words  as  possible  what  we 
wanted  for  Bill,  and  the  price  we  could  pay. 

"  'Those  western  appointments,'  says  she,  'are 
easy.  Le'me  see,  now,'  says  she,  'who  could  put  that 
through  for  us.  No  use  fooling  with  Territorial  del- 
egates. I  guess,'  says  she,  'that  Senator  Sniper 
would  be  about  the  man.  He's  from  somewheres  in 
the  West.  Let's  see  how  he  stands  on  my  private 
menu  card.'  She  takes  some  papers  out  of  a  pigeon- 
hole with  the  letter  'S'  over  it. 


The  Hand  that  Riles  the  World      65 


« 

►« 


«o 


w 

fe 


66  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"  'Yes,'  says  she,  'he's  marked  with  a  star ;  that 
means  "ready  to  serve."  Now,  let's  see.  "Age  55 ; 
married  twice ;  Presbyterian,  likes  blondes,  Tolstoi, 
poker  and  stewed  terrapin ;  sentimental  at  third  bot- 
tle of  wine."  Yes,'  she  goes  on,  'I  am  sure  I  can 
have  your  friend,  Mr.  Bummer,  appointed  Minister 
to  Brazil.' 

"  'Humble,'  says  I.  'And  United  States  Marshal 
was  the  berth.' 

"  'Oh,  yes,'  says  Mrs.  Avery.  'I  have  so  many 
deals  of  this  sort  I  sometimes  get  them  confused. 
Give  me  all  the  memoranda  you  have  of  the  case,  Mr. 
Peters,  and  come  back  in  four  days.  I  think  it  can 
be  arranged  by  then.' 

"So  me  and  Andy  goes  back  to  our  hotel  and 
waits.  Andy  walks  up  and  down  and  chews  the  left 
end  of  his  mustache. 

"  'A  woman  of  high  intellect  and  perfect  beauty 
is  a  rare  thing,  Jeff,'  says  he. 

"  'As  rare,'  says  I,  'as  an  omelet  made  from  the 
eggs  of  the  fabulous  bird  known  as  the  epidermis,' 
says  I. 

"  'A  woman  like  that,'  says  Andy,  'ought  to  lead 
a  man  to  the  highest  positions  of  opulence  and  fame.' 

"  'I  misdoubt,'  says  I,  'if  any  woman  ever  helped 


The  Hand  that  Riles  the  World       67 

a  man  to  secure  a  job  any  more  than  to  have  his 
meals  ready  promptly  and  spread  a  report  that  the 
other  candidate's  wife  had  once  been  a  shoplifter. 
They  arc  no  more  adapted  for  business  and  politics,' 
says  I,  'than  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne  is  to  be 
floor  manager  at  one  of  Chuck  Connor's  annual  balls. 
I  know,'  says  I  to  Andy,  'that  sometimes  a  woman 
seems  to  step  out  into  the  kalsomine  light  as  the 
charge  d'affaires  of  her  man's  political  job.  But  how 
does  it  come  out?  Say,  they  have  a  neat  little  berth 
somewhere  as  foreign  consul  of  record  to  Afghanis- 
tan or  lockkeeper  on  the  Delaware  and  Raritan 
Canal.  One  day  this  man  finds  his  wife  putting  on 
her  overshoes  and  three  months  supply  of  bird  seed 
into  the  canary's  cage.  "Sioux  Falls?"  he  asks  with 
a  kind  of  hopeful  light  in  his  eye.  "No,  Arthur," 
says  she,  "Washington.  We're  wasted  here,"  says 
she.  "You  ought  to  be  Toady  Extraordinary  to  the 
Court  of  St.  Bridget  or  Head  Porter  of  the  Island 
of  Porto  Rico.     I'm  going  to  see  about  it." 

"  'Then  this  lady,'  I  says  to  Andy,  'moves 
against  the  authorities  at  Washington  with  her  bag- 
gage and  munitions,  consisting  of  five  dozen  indis- 
criminating  letters  written  to  her  by  a  member  of 
the  Cabinet  when  she  was  15 ;  a  letter  of  introduc- 


68  The  Gentle  Grafter 

tion  from  King  Leopold  to  the  Smithsonian  Institu- 
tion, and  a  pink  silk  costume  with  canary  colored 
spats. 

"'Well,  and  then  what?'  I  goes.  'She  has  the 
letters  printed  in  the  evening  papers  that  match  her 
costume,  she  lectures  at  an  informal  tea  given  in  the 
palm  room  of  the  B.  &  O.  Depot  and  then  calls  on 
the  President.  The  ninth  Assistant  Secretary  of 
Commerce  and  Labor,  the  first  aide-de-camp  of  the 
Blue  Room  and  an  unidentified  colored  man  are 
waiting  there  to  grasp  her  by  the  hands  —  and  feet. 
They  carry  her  out  to  S.  W.  B.  street  and  leave  her 
on  a  cellar  door.  That  ends  it.  The  nest  time  we 
hear  of  her  she  is  writing  postal  cards  to  the  Chinese 
Minister  asking  him  to  get  Arthur  a  job  in  a  tea 
store.' 

"'Then,'  says  Andy,  'you  don't  think  Mrs. 
Avery  will  land  the  Marshalship  for  Bill?' 

"  'I  do  not,'  says  I.  'I  do  not  wish  to  be  a  septic, 
but  I  doubt  if  she  can  do  as  well  as  you  and  me 
could  have  done.' 

"  'I  don't  agree  with  you,'  says  Andy.  'I'll  bet 
you  she  does.  I'm  proud  of  having  a  higher  opinion 
of  the  talent  and  the  powers  of  negotiation  of 
ladies.' 

"We  was  back  at  Mrs.  Avery's  hotel  at  the  time 


The  Hand  that  Riles  the  World      69 

she  appointee!.  She  was  looking  pretty  and  fine 
enough,  as  far  as  that  went,  to  make  any  man  let  her 
name  every  officer  in  the  country.  But  I  hadn't  much 
faith  in  looks,  so  I  was  certainly  surprised  when  she 
pulls  out  a  document  with  the  great  seal  of  the  United 
States  on  it,  and  'William  Henry  Humble'  in  a  fine, 
big  hand  on  the  back. 

"  'You  might  have  had  it  the  next  day,  boys,'  says 
Mrs.  Avery  smiling.  'I  hadn't  the  slightest  trouble 
in  getting  it,'  says  she.  'I  just  asked  for  it,  that's 
all.  Now,  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you  a  while,'  she  goes  on, 
*but  I'm  awfully  bus}',  and  I  know  you'll  excuse  me. 
I've  got  an  Ambassadorship,  two  Consulates  and  a 
dozen  other  minor  applications  to  look  after.  I  can 
hardly  find  time  to  sleep  at  all.  You'll  give  my  com- 
pliments to  Mr.  Humble  when  you  get  home,  of 
course.' 

"Well,  I  handed  her  the  $500,  which  she  pitched 
into  her  desk  drawer  without  counting.  I  put  Bill's 
appointment  in  my  pocket  and  me  and  Andy  made 
our  adieus. 

"We  started  back  for  the  Territory  the  same  day. 
We  wired  Bill:  'Job  landed;  get  the  tall  glasses 
ready,'  and  we  felt  pretty  good. 

"Andy  joshed  me  all  the  way  about  how  little  I 
knew  about  women. 


70  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"  'All  right,'  says  I.  Til  admit  that  she  surprised 
me.  But  it's  the  first  time  I  ever  knew  one  of  'em 
to  manipulate  a  piece  of  business  on  time  without 
getting  it  bungled  up  in  some  way,'  says  I. 

"Down  about  the  edge  of  Arkansas  I  got  out 
Bill's  appointment  and  looked  it  over,  and  then  I 
handed  it  to  Andy  to  read.  Andy  read  it,  but  didn't 
add  any  remarks  to  my  silence. 

"The  paper  was  for  Bill,  all  right,  and  a  genuine 
document,  but  it  appointed  him  postmaster  of  Dade 
City,  Fla. 

"Me  and  Andy  got  off  the  train  at  Little  Rock 
and  sent  Bill's  appointment  to  him  by  mail.  Then 
we  struck  northeast  toward  Lake  Superior. 

"I  never  saw  Bill  Humble  after  that." 


THE  EXACT  SCIENCE  OF  MATRIMONY 

"AS  I  have  told  you  before,"  said  Jeff  Peters, 
"I  never  had  much  confidence  in  the  perfidiousness 
of  woman.  As  partners  or  coeducators  in  the  most 
innocent  line  of  graft  thev  are  not  trustworthy." 

"They  deserve  the  compliment,"  said  I.  "I  think 
they  are  entitled  to  be  caHed  the  honest  sex." 

"Why  shouldn't  they  be?"  said  Jeff.  "They've 
got  the  other  sex  either  grafting  or  working  overtime 
for  'em.  They're  all  right  in  business  until  they  get 
their  emotions  or  their  hair  touched  up  too  much. 
Then  you  want  to  have  a  flat  footed,  heavy  breathing 
man  with  sandy  whiskers,  five  kids  and  a  building  and 
loan  mortgage  ready  as  an  understudy  to  take  her 
desk.  Now  there  was  that  widow  lady  that  me  and 
Andy  Tucker  engaged  to  help  us  in  that  little  mat- 
rimonial agency  scheme  we  floated  out  in  Cairo. 

"When   you've  got  enough  advertising  capital  — 

say  a  roll  as  big  as  the  little  end  of  a  wagon  tongue 

—  there's  money  in  matrimonial  agencies.      We  had 

about  $6,000  and  we  expected  to  double  it  in  two 

71 


72  The  Gentle  Grafter 

months,  which  is  about  as  long  as  a  scheme  like  ours 
can  be  carried  on  without  taking  out  a  New  Jersey 
charter. 

"We  fixed  up  an  advertisement  that  read  about 
like  this : 

"Charming  widow,  beautiful,  home  loving,  32  years,  pos- 
sessing $3,000  cash  and  owning  valuable  country  property, 
would  remarry.  Would  prefer  a  poor  man  with  affectionate 
disposition  to  one  with  means,  as  she  realizes  that  the  solid 
virtues  are  oftenest  to  be  found  in  the  humble  walks  of  life. 
No  objection  to  elderly  man  or  one  of  homely  appearance  if 
faithful  and  true  and  competent  to  manage  property  and  invest 
money  with  judgment.     Address,  with  particulars. 

Loxely, 
Care  of  Peters  &  Tucker,  agents,  Cairo,  111. 

"  'So  far,  so  pernicious,'  says  I,  when  we  had 
finished  the  literary  concoction.  'And  now,'  says  I, 
*where  is  the  lady?' 

"Andy  gives  me  one  of  his  looks  of  calm  irrita- 
tion. 

"'Jeff,'  says  he,  'I  thought  you  had  lost  them 
ideas  of  realism  in  your  art.  Why  should  there  be  a 
lady?  When  they  sell  a  lot  of  watered  stock  on  Wall 
Street  would  you  expect  to  find  a  mermaid  in  it? 
What  has  a  matrimonial  ad  got  to  do  with  a  lady?' 

"  'Now  listen,'  says  I.  'You  know  my  rule,  Andy, 
that  in  all  my  illegitimate  inroads  against  the  legal 
letter  of  the  law  the  article  sold  must  be  existent, 


The  Exact  Science  of  Matrimony       73 

visible,  producible.  In  that  way  and  by  a  careful 
study  of  city  ordinances  and  train  schedules  I  have 
kept  out  of  all  trouble  with  the  police  that  a  five 
dollar  bill  and  a  cigar  could  not  square.  Now,  to 
work  this  scheme  we've  got  to  be  able  to  produce 
bodily  a  charming  widow  or  its  equivalent  with  or 
without  the  beauty,  hereditaments  and  appurtenances 
set  forth  in  the  catalogue  and  writ  of  errors,  or  here- 
after be  held  by  a  justice  of  the  peace.' 

"  'Well,'  says  Andy,  reconstructing  his  mind, 
'maybe  it  would  be  safer  in  case  the  post  office  or  the 
peace  commission  should  try  to  investigate  our 
agency.  But  where,'  he  says,  'could  you  hope  to  find 
a  widow  who  would  waste  time  on  a  matrimonial 
scheme  that  had  no  matrimony  in  it?' 

"I  told  Andy  that  I  thought  I  knew  of  the  exact 
party.  An  old  friend  of  mine,  Zeke  Trotter,  who 
used  to  draw  soda  water  and  teeth  in  a  tent  show,  had 
made  his  wife  a  widow  a  year  before  by  drinking 
some  dyspepsia  cure  of  the  old  doctor's  instead  of  the 
liniment  that  he  always  got  boozed  up  on.  I  used  to 
stop  at  their  house  often,  and  I  thought  we  could  get 
her  to  work  with  us. 

"  'Twas  only  sixty  miles  to  the  little  town  where 
she  lived,  so  I  jumped  out  on  the  I.  C.  and  finds  her 
in  the  same  cottage  with  the  same  sunflowers   and 


74  The  Gentle  Grafter 

roosters  standing  on  the  washtub.  Mrs.  Trotter  fitted 
our  ad  first  rate  except,  maybe  for  beauty  and  age 
and  property  valuation.  But  she  looked  feasible  and 
praiseworthy  to  the  eye,  and  it  was  a  kindness  to 
Zeke's  memory  to  give  her  the  job. 

"  'Is  this  an  honest  deal  you  are  putting  on,  Mr. 
Peters,'  she  asks  me  when  I  tell  her  what  we  want. 

"  'Mrs.  Trotter,'  says  I,  'Andy  Tucker  and  me 
have  computed  the  calculation  that  3,000  men  in  this 
broad  and  unfair  country  with  endeavor  to  secure 
your  fair  hand  and  ostensible  money  and  property 
through  our  advertisement.  Out  of  that  number 
something  like  thirty  hundred  will  expect  to  give  you 
in  exchange,  if  they  should  win  you,  the  carcass  of 
a  lazy  and  mercenary  loafer,  a  failure  in  life,  a  swin- 
dler and  contemptible  fortune  seeker. 

"  'Me  and  Andy,'  says  I,  'propose  to  teach  these 
preyers  upon  society  a  lesson.  It  was  with  difficulty,' 
says  I,  'that  me  and  Andy  could  refrain  from  form- 
ing a  corporation  under  the  title  of  the  Great  Moral 
and  Millennial  Malevolent  Matrimonial  Agency. 
Does  that  satisfy  you?' 

'"It  does,  Mr.  Peters,'  says  she.  'I  might  have 
known  you  wouldn't  have  gone  into  anything  that 
wasn't  opprobrious.  But  what  will  my  duties  be? 
Do  I  have  to  reject  personally  these  3,000  ramscal- 


The  Eooact  Science  of  Matrimony       75 

lions    vou   speak  of,   or   can   I   throw   them   out   in 
bunches?' 

"'Your  job,  Mrs.  Trotter,'  says  I,  'will  be  prac- 
tically a  cynosure.  You  will  live  at  a  quiet  hotel  and 
will  have  no  work  to  do.  Andy  and  I  will  attend  to  all 
the  correspondence  and  business  end  of  it. 

"'Of  course,'  says  I,  'some  of  the  more  ardent 
and  impetuous  suitors  who  can  raise  the  railroad  fare 
may  come  to  Cairo  to  personally  press  their  suit  or 
■vhatever  fraction  of  a  suit  they  may  be  wearing.  In 
that  case  you  will  be  probably  put  to  the  inconven- 
ience of  kicking  them  out  face  to  face.  We  will  pay 
you  $25  per  week  and  hotel  expenses.' 

"'Give  me  five  minutes,'  says  Mrs.  Trotter,  'to 
get  my  powder  rag  and  leave  the  front  door  key 
with  a  neighbor  and  you  can  let  my  salary  begin.' 

"So  I  conveys  Mrs.  Trotter  to  Cairo  and  estab- 
lishes her  in  a  family  hotel  far  enough  away  from 
mine  and  Andy's  quarters  to  be  unsuspicious  and 
available,  and  I  tell  Andy. 

"  'Great,'  says  Andy.  'And  noT  that  your  con- 
science is  appeased  as  to  the  tangibility  and  proxim- 
ity of  the  bait,  and  leaving  mutton  aside,  suppose  we 
revenoo  a  noo  fish.' 

"So,  we  began  to  insert  our  advertisement  in  news- 
papers covering  the  country  far  and  wide.     One  ad 


76  The  Gentle  Grafter 

was  all  we  used.  We  couldn't  have  used  more  without 
hiring  so  many  clerks  and  marcelled  paraphernalia 
that  the  sound  of  the  gum  chewing  would  have  dis- 
turbed the  Postmaster-General. 

"We  placed  $2,000  in  a  bank  to  Mrs.  Trotter's 
credit  and  gave  her  the  book  to  show  in  case  anybody 
might  question  the  honesty  and  good  faith  of  the 
agency.  I  knew  Mrs.  Trotter  was  square  and  re- 
liable and  it  was  safe  to  leave  it  in  her  name. 

"With  that  one  ad  Andy  and  me  put  in  twelve 
hours  a  day  answering  letters. 

"About  one  hundred  a  day  was  what  came  in.  I 
never  knew  there  was  so  many  large  hearted  but  in- 
digent men  in  the  country  who  were  willing  to  ac- 
quire a  charming  widow  and  assume  the  burden  of  in- 
vesting her  money. 

"Most  of  them  admitted  that  they  ran  principally 
to  whiskers  and  lost  jobs  and  were  misunderstood  by 
the  world,  but  all  of  'em  were  sure  that  they  were  so 
chock  full  of  affection  and  manly  qualities  that  the 
widow  would  be  making  the  bargain  of  her  life  to  get 


'em. 


"Every  applicant  got  a  reply  from  Peters  & 
Tucker  informing  him  that  the  widow  had  been 
deeply  impressed  by  his  straightforward  and  inter- 
esting letter  and  requesting  them   to   write  again; 


The  Exact  Science  of  Matrimony      77 


09 


O 
O 


O 


78  The  Gentle  Grafter 

stating  more  particulars ;  and  enclosing  photograph 
if  convenient.  Peters  &  Tucker  also  informed  the 
applicant  that  their  fee  for  handing  over  the  second 
letter  to  their  fair  client  would  be  $2,  enclosed  there- 
with. 

"There  you  see  the  simple  beauty  of  the  scheme. 
About  90  per  cent,  of  them  domestic  foreign  noble- 
men raised  the  price  somehow  and  sent  it  in.  That 
was  all  there  was  to  it.  Except  that  me  and  Andy 
complained  an  amount  about  being  put  to  the  trouble 
of  slicing  open  them  envelopes,  and  taking  the  money 
out. 

"Some  few  clients  called  in  person.  We  sent  'em 
to  Mrs.  Trotter  and  she  did  the  rest ;  except  for  three 
or  four  who  came  back  to  strike  us  for  carfare. 
After  the  letters  began  to  get  in  from  the  r.  f.  d.  dis- 
tricts Andy  and  me  were  taking  in  about  $200  a 
day. 

"One  afternoon  when  we  were  busiest  and  I  was 
stuffing  the  two  and  ones  into  cigar  boxes  and  Andy 
was  whistling  'No  Wedding  Bells  for  Pier'  a  small, 
slick  man  drops  in  and  runs  his  eye  over  the  walls 
like  he  was  on  the  trail  of  a  lost  Gainesborough  paint- 
ing or  two.  As  soon  as  I  saw  him  I  felt  a  glow  of 
pride,  because  we  were  running  our  business  on  the 
level. 


The  Exact  Science  of  Matrimony       79 

"  'I  see  you  have  quite  a  large  mail  to-day,'  says 
the  man. 

"I  reached  and  got  my  hat. 

"'Come  on.'  says  I.  'We've  been  expecting  you. 
Ill  show  you  the  goods.  How  was  Teddy  when  you 
left  Washington?' 

"I  took  him  down  to  the  Riverview  Hotel  and  had 
him  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Trotter.  Then  I  showed 
him  her  bank  book  with  the  $2,000  to  her  credit. 
"  'It  seems  to  be  all  right,'  says  the  Secret  Service. 
"  'It  is,'  says  I.  'And  if  you're  not  a  married  man 
I'll  leave  you  to  talk  a  while  with  the  lady.  We  won't 
mention  the  two  dollars.' 

"  'Thanks,'  says  he.  'If  I  wasn't,  I  might.  Good 
day,  Mrs.  Peters.' 

"Toward  the  end  of  three  months  we  had  taken  in 
something  over  $5,000,  and  we  saw  it  was  time  to 
quit.  We  had  a  good  many  complaints  made  to  us ; 
and  Mrs.  Trotter  seemed  to  be  tired  of  the  job.  A 
good  many  suitors  had  been  calling  to  see  her,  and 
she  didn't  seem  to  like  that. 

"So  we  decides  to  pull  out,  and  I  goes  down  to 
Mrs.  Trotter's  hotel  to  pay  her  last  week's  salary  and 
say  farewell  and  get  her  check  for  the  $2,000. 

"When  I  got  there  I  found  her  crying  like  a  kid 
that  don't  want  to  go  to  school. 


80  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"'Now,  now,'  says  I,  'what's  it  all  about?     Some- 
body sassed  you  or  you  getting  homesick?' 

"  'No,  Mr.  Peters,'  says  she.     'I'll  tell  you.     You 


^rc^Mw*e— »i 


"  '  Mr.  Peters,  I'm  in  love.' ' 
was  always  a  friend  of  Zelce's,  and  I  don't  mind.     Mr. 
Peters,  I'm  in  love.     I  just  love  a  man  so  hard  I  can't 
bear  not  to  get  him.     He's  just  the  ideal  I've  always 
had  in  mind.' 


The  Exact  Science  of  Matrimony      81 

"  'Then  take  him,'  says  I.  'That  is,  if  it's  a  mu- 
tual ease.  Does  he  return  the  sentiment  according  to 
the  specifications  and  painfulness  you  have  de- 
scribed?' 

"  'He  does,'  says  she.  'But  he's  one  of  the  gentle- 
men that's  been  coming  to  see  me  about  the  advertise- 
ment and  he  won't  marry  me  unless  I  give  him  the 
$2,000.  His  name  is  William  Wilkinson.'  And  then 
she  goes  off  again  in  the  agitations  and  hysterics  of 
romance. 

"'Mrs.  Trotter,'  says  I,  'there's  no  man  more 
sympathizing  with  a  woman's  affections  than  I  am. 
Besides,  you  was  once  the  life  partner  of  one  of  my 
best  friends.  If  it  was  left  to  me. I'd  say  take  this 
$2,000  and  the  man  of  your  choice  and  be  happy. 

"'We  could  afford  to  do  that,  because  we  have 
cleaned  up  over  $5,000  from  these  suckers  that 
wanted  to  marry  you.  But,'  says  I,  'Andy  Tucker  is 
to  be  consulted. 

"  'He  is  a  good  man,  but  keen  in  business.  He  is 
my  equal  partner  financially.  I  will  talk  to  Andy,' 
says  I,  'and  see  what  can  be  done.' 

"I  goes  back  to  our  hotel  and  lays  the  case  before 
Andy. 

"  'I  was  expecting  something  like  this  all  the  time,' 
says  Andy.     'You  can't  trust  a  woman  to  stick  by 


82  The  Gentle  Grafter 

you  in  any  scheme  that  involves  her  emotions  and 
preferences.' 

"'It's  a  sad  thing,  Andy,'  says  I,  Ho  think  that 
we've  been  the  cause  of  the  breaking  of  a  woman's 
heart.' 

"  'It  is,'  says  Andy,  'and  I  tell  you  what  I'm  will- 
ing to  do,  Jeff.  You've  always  been  a  man  of  a  soft 
and  generous  heart  and  disposition.  Perhaps  I've 
been  too  hard  and  worldly  and  suspicious.  For  once 
I'll  meet  you  half  way.  Go  to  Mrs.  Trotter  and  tell 
her  to  draw  the  $2,000  from  the  bank  and  give  it  to 
this  man  she's  infatuated  with  and  be  happy.' 

"I  jumps  up  and  shakes  Andy's  hand  for  five  min- 
utes, and  then  I  goes  back  to  Mrs.  Trotter  and  tells 
her,  and  she  cries  as  hard  for  joy  as  she  did  for  sor- 
row. 

"Two  days  afterward  me  and  Andy  packed  up  to 

go. 

"'Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  down  and  meet  Mrs. 
Trotter  once  before  we  leave?'  I  asks  him.  'She'd 
like  mightily  to  know  you  and  express  her  encomiums 
and  gratitude.' 

"  'Why,  I  guess  not,'  says  Andy.  'I  guess  we'd 
better  hurry  and  catch  that  train.' 

"I  was  strapping  our  capital  around  me  in  a  mem- 
ory belt  like  we  always  carried  it,  when  Andy  pulls  a 


The  'Exact  Science  of  Matrimony       83 


«  <TX7X.~*> 


What's  this?'  says  I.' 


84  The  Gentle  Grafter 

roll  of  large  bills  out  of  his  pocket  and  asks  me  to 
put  'em  with  the  rest. 

"'What's  this?'  says  I. 

"  'It's  Mrs.  Trotter's  two  thousand,'  says  Andy. 

"  'How  do  you  come  to  have  it?'  I  asks. 

"  'She  gave  it  to  me,'  says  Andy.  'I've  been  call- 
ing on  her  three  evenings  a  week  for  more  than  a 
month.' 

"'Then  are  you  William  Wilkinson?'  says  I. 

"'I  was,'  says  Andy." 


A  MIDSUMMER  MASQUERADE 


6(1 


'SATAN,"  said  Jeff  Peters,  "is  a  hard  boss  to 
work  for.  When  other  people  are  having  their  vaca- 
tion is  when  he  keeps  you  the  busiest.  As  old  Dr. 
Watts  or  St.  Paul  or  some  other  diagnostician  says: 
'He  always  finds  somebody  for  idle  hands  to  do.' 

"I  remember  one  summer  when  me  and  my  partner, 
Andy  Tucker,  tried  to  take  a  laj^off  from  our  pro- 
fessional and  business  duties;  but  it  seems  that  our 
work  followed  us  wherever  we  went. 

"Now,  with  a  preacher  it's  different.  He  can 
throw  off  his  responsibilities  and  enjoy  himself.  On 
the  31st  of  May  he  wraps  mosquito  netting  and  tin 
foil  around  the  pulpit,  grabs  his  niblick,  breviary  and 
fishing  pole  and  hikes  for  Lake  Como  or  Atlantic 
City  according  to  the  size  of  the  loudness  with  which 
he  has  been  called  by  his  congregation.  And,  sir,  for 
three  months  he  don't  have  to  think  about  business 
except  to  hunt  around  in  Deuteronomy  and  Proverbs 
and  Timothy  to  find  texts  to  cover  and  exculpate  such 
little  midsummer  penances  as  dropping  a  couple  ©I 

85 


86  The  Gentle  Grafter 

looej'  door  on  rouge  or  teaching  a  Presbyterian 
widow  to  swim. 

"But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  mine  and 
Andy's  summer  vacation  that  wasn't  one. 

"We  was  tired  of  finance  and  all  the  branches  of 
unsanctified  ingenuity.  Even  Andy,  whose  brain 
rarely  ever  stopped  working,  began  to  make  noises 
like  a  tennis  cabinet. 

"  'Heigh  ho !'  says  Andy.  'I'm  tired.  I've  got 
that  steam  up  the  yacht  Corsair  and  ho  for  the 
Riviera !  feeling.  I  want  to  loaf  and  indict  my  soul, 
as  Walt  Whittier  says.  I  want  to  play  pinochle  with 
Merry  del  Val  or  give  a  knouting  to  the  tenants  on 
my  Tarrytown  estates  or  do  a  monologue  at  a  Chau- 
tauqua picnic  in  kilts  or  something  summery  and  out- 
side the  line  of  routine  and  sand-bagging.' 

"  'Patience,'  says  I.  'You'll  have  to  climb  higher 
in  the  profession  before  you  can  taste  the  laurels  that 
crown  the  footprints  of  the  great  captains  of  indus- 
try. Now,  what  I'd  like,  Andy,'  says  I,  'would  be  a 
summer  sojourn  in  a  mountain  village  far  from 
scenes  of  larceny,  labor  and  overcapitalization.  I'm 
tired,  too,  and  a  month  or  so  of  sinlessne9S  ought  to 
leave  us  in  good  shape  to  begin  again  to  take  away 
the  white  man's  burdens  in  the  fall.' 

"Andy  fell  in  with  the  rest  cure  idea  at  once,  so  we 


A  Midsummer  Masquerade  8? 

struck  the  general  passenger  agents  of  all  the  rail- 
roads for  summer  resort  literature,  and  took  a  week 
to  study  out  where  we  should  go.  I  reckon  the  first 
passenger  agent  in  the  world  was  that  man  Genesis. 
But  there  wasn't  much  competition  in  his  day,  and 
when  he  said :  'The  Lord  made  the  earth  in  six  days, 
and  all  very  good,'  he  hadn't  any  idea  to  what  extent 
the  press  agents  of  the  summer  hotels  would  plagiar- 
ize from  him  later  on. 

"When  we  finished  the  booklets  we  perceived,  easy, 
that  the  United  States  from  Passadumkeg,  Maine,  to 
El  Paso,  and  from  Skagway  to  Key  West  was  a  para- 
dise of  glorious  mountain  peaks,  crystal  lakes,  new 
laid  eggs,  golf,  girls,  garages,  cooling  breezes,  straw 
rides,  open  plumbing  and  tennis  ;  and  all  within  two 
hours'  ride. 

"So  me  and  Andy  dumps  the  books  out  the  back 
window  and  packs  our  trunk  and  takes  the  6  o'clock 
Tortoise  Flyer  for  Crow  Knob,  a  kind  of  a  dernier 
resort  in  the  mountains  on  the  line  of  Tennessee  and 
North  Carolina. 

"We  was  directed  to  a  kind  of  private  hotel  called 
Woodchuck  Inn,  and  thither  me  and  Andy  bent  and 
almost  broke  our  footsteps  over  the  rocks  and  stumps. 
The  Inn  set  back  from  the  road  in  a  big  grove  of 
trees,  and  it  looked  fine  with  its  broad  porches  and  a 


88 


The  Gentle  Grafter 

L  I  WUIIMI  '       '  .  ' 


Dumps  the  books  out  of  the  back  window. 


A  Midsummer  Masquerade  89 

lot  of  women  in  white  dresses  rocking  in  the  shade. 
The  rest  of  Crow  Knob  was  a  post  office  and  some 
scenery   set   an   angle   of   forty-five   degrees    and   a 

welkin. 

* 

"Well,  sir,  when  we  got  to  the  gate  who  do  you 
suppose  comes  down  the  walk  to  greet  us?  Old 
Smoke-'em-out  Smithers,  who  used  to  be  the  best 
open  air  painless  dentist  and  electric  liver  pad  faker 
in  the  Southwest. 

"Old  Smoke-'em-out  is  dressed  clerico-rural,  and 
has  the  mingled  air  of  a  landlord  and  a  claim  jumper. 
Which  aspect  he  corroborates  by  telling  us  that  he  is 
the  host  and  perpetrator  of  Woodchuck  inn.  I  intro- 
duces Andy,  and  we  talk  about  a  few  volatile  topics, 
such  as  will  go  around  at  meetings  of  boards  of  di- 
rectors and  old  associates  like  us  three  were.  Old 
Smoke-'em-out  leads  us  into  a  kind  of  summer  house 
in  the  j'ard  near  the  gate  and  took  up  the  harp  of 
life  and  smote  on  all  the  chords  with  his  mighty  right. 

"'Gents,'  says  he,  'I'm  glad  to  see  j-ou.  J\Liybe 
you  can  help  me  out  of  a  scrape.  I'm  getting  a  bit 
old  for  street  work,  so  I  leased  this  dogdays  empo- 
rium so  the  good  things  would  come  to  me.  Two  weeks 
before  the  season  opened  I  gets  a  letter  signed  Lieut. 
Peary  and  one  from  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  each 
wanting  to  engage  board  for  part  of  the  summer. 


90  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"  'Well,  sir,  you  gents  know  what  a  big  thing  for 
an  obscure  hustlery  it  would  be  to  have  for  guests 
two  gentlemen  whose  names  are  famous  from  long  as- 
sociation with  icebergs  and  the  Coburgs.  So  I  prints 
a  lot  of  handbills  announcing  that  Woodchuck  Inn 
would  shelter  these  distinguished  boarders  during  the 
summer,  except  in  places  where  it  leaked,  and  I  sends 
'em  out  to  towns  around  as  far  as  Knoxville  and 
Charlotte  and  Fish  Dam  and  Bowling  Green. 

"  'And  now  look  up  there  on  the  porch,  gents,' 
says  Smoke-'em-out,  'at  them  disconsolate  specimens 
of  their  fair  sex  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  Duke 
and  the  Lieutenant.  The  house  is  packed  from 
rafters  to  cellar  with  hero  worshippers. 

'"There's  four  normal  school  teachers  and  two 
abnormal ;  there's  three  high  school  graduates  be- 
tween 37  and  42 ;  there's  two  literary  old  maids  and 
one  that  can  write;  there's  a  couple  of  society  women 
and  a  lady  from  Haw  River.  Two  elocutionists  are 
bunking  in  the  corn  crib,  and  I've  put  cots  in  the  hay 
loft  for  the  cook  and  the  society  editress  of  the  Chat- 
tanooga Opera  Glass.  You  see  how  names  draw, 
gents.' 

"'Well,'  says  I,  'how  is  it  that  you  seem  to  be 
biting  your  thumbs  at  good  luck?  You  didn't  use  to 
be  that  way.' 


'A  Midsummer  Masquerade  91 

"'I  ain't  through,'  says  Smoke-'em-out.  'Yester- 
day was  the  day  for  the  advent  of  the  auspicious  per- 
sonages. I  goes  down  to  the  depot  to  welcome  'em. 
Two  apparently  animate  substances  gets  off  the 
train,  both  carrying  bags  full  of  croquet  mallets  and 
these  magic  lanterns  with  pushbuttons. 

"  'I  compares  these  integers  with  the  original  sig- 
natures to  the  letters  —  and,  well,  gents,  I  reckon  the 
mistake  was  due  to  my  poor  eyesight.  Instead  of  be- 
ing the  Lieutenant,  the  daisy  chain  and  wild  verbena 
explorer  was  none  other  than  Levi  T.  Peevy,  a  soda 
water  clerk  from  Asheville.  And  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough turned  out  to  be  Theo.  Drake  of  Murfrees- 
borough,  a  bookkeeper  in  a  grocery.  What  did  I 
do?  I  kicked  'em  both  back  on  the  train  and  watched 
'em  depart  for  the  lowlands,  the  low. 

"  'Now  you  see  the  fix  I'm  in,  gents,'  goes  on 
Smoke-'em-out  Smithers.  'I  told  the  ladies  that  the 
notorious  visitors  had  been  detained  on  the  road  by 
some  unavoidable  circumstances  that  made  a  noise 
like  an  ice  jam  and  an  heiress,  but  they  would  arrive 
a  day  or  two  later.  When  they  find  out  that  they've 
been  deceived,'  says  Smoke-'em-out,  'every  yard  of 
cross  barred  muslin  and  natural  waved  switch  in  the 
house  will  pack  up  and  leave.  It's  a  hard  deal,'  says 
old  Smoke-'em-out. 


92 


The  Gentle  Grafter 


s 

» 


i-s; 


8 


« '1 


A  Midsummer  Masquerade  93 

'Friend,'  says  Andy,  touching  the  old  man  on 
the  aesophagus,  'why  this  jeremiad  when  the  polar 
regions  and  the  portals  of  Blenheim  are  conspiring 
to  hand  you  prosperity  on  a  hall-marked  silver  salver. 
We  have  arrived.' 

"A  light  breaks  out  on  Smoke-'em-out's  face. 

"'Can  you  do  it,  gents?'  he  asks.  'Could  ye  do 
it?  Could  ye  play  the  polar  man  and  the  little  duke 
for  the  nice  ladies  ?     Will  ye  do  it  ?' 

"I  see  that  Andy  is  superimposed  with  his  old 
hankering  for  the  oral  and  polyglot  system  of  bunco- 
ing. That  man  had  a  vocabulary  of  about  10,000 
words  and  synonyms,  which  arrayed  themselves  into 
contraband  sophistries  and  parables  when  they  came 
out. 

"  'Listen,'  says  Andy  to  old  Smoke-'em-out.  'Can 
we  do  it?  You  behold  before  you,  Mr.  Smithers,  two 
of  the  finest  equipped  men  on  earth  for  inveigling  the 
proletariat,  whether  by  word  of  mouth,  sleight-of- 
hand  or  swiftness  of  foot.  Dukes  come  and  go,  ex- 
plorers go  and  get  lost,  but  me  and  Jeff  Peters,'  says 
Andy,  'go  after  the  come-ons  forever.  If  you  say  so, 
we're  the  two  illustrious  guests  you  were  expecting. 
And  you'll  find,'  says  Andy,  'that  we'll  give  you  the 
true  local  color  of  the  title  roles  from  the  aurora 
borealis  to  the  ducal  portcullis.' 


The  Gentle  Grafter 


•9 


Co. 

CO 


<35 


A  Midsummer  Masquerade  95 

"Old  Smoke- 'em-out  is  delighted.  He  takes  me 
and  Andy  up  to  the  inn  by  an  arm  apiece,  telling  us 
on  the  way  that  the  finest  fruits  of  the  can  and  lux- 
uries of  the  fast  freights  should  be  ours  without  price 
as  long  as  we  would  stay. 

"On  the  porch  Smoke-'em-out  says:  'Ladies,  I 
have  the  honor  to  introduce  His  Gracefulness  the 
Duke  of  Marlborough  and  the  famous  inventor  of 
the  North  Pole,  Lieut.  Peary.' 

"The  skirts  all  flutter  and  the  rocking  chairs 
squeak  as  me  and  Andy  bows  and  then  goes  on  in 
with  old  Smoke-'em-out  to  register.  And  then  we 
washed  up  and  turned  our  cuffs,  and  the  landlord 
took  us  to  the  rooms  he'd  been  saving  for  us  and  got 
out  a  demijohn  of  North  Carolina  real  mountain 
dew. 

"I  expected  trouble  when  Andy  began  to  drink. 
He  has  the  artistic  metempsychosis  which  is  half 
drunk  when  sober  and  looks  down  on  airships  when 
stimulated. 

"After  lingering  with  the  demijohn  me  and  Andy 
goes  out  on  the  porch,  where  the  ladies  are  to  begin 
to  earn  our  keep.  We  sit  in  two  special  chairs  and 
then  the  schoolma'ams  and  literaterrers  hunched  their 
rockers  close  around  us. 


96  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"One  lady  says  to  me :  'How  did  that  last  venture 
of  yours  turn  out,  sir?' 

"Now,  I'd  clean  forgot  to  have  an  understanding 
with  Andy  which  I  was  to  be,  the  duke  or  the  lieuten- 
ant. And  I  couldn't  tell  from  her  question  whether 
she  was  referring  to  Arctic  or  matrimonial  expedi- 
tions.     So  I  gave  an  answer  that  would  cover  both 


cases. 


"'Well,  ma'am,'  says  I,  'it  was  a  freeze  out  — 
right  smart  of  a  freeze  out,  ma'am.' 

"And  then  the  flood  gates  of  Andy's  perorations 
was  opened  and  I  knew  which  one  of  the  renowned  os- 
tensible guests  I  was  supposed  to  be.  I  wasn't  either. 
Andy  was  both.  And  still  furthermore  it  seemed  that 
he  was  trying  to  be  the  mouthpiece  of  the  entire  Brit- 
ish nobility  and  of  Arctic  exploration  from  Sir  John 
Franklin  down.  It  was  the  union  of  corn  whiskey 
and  the  conscientious  fictional  form  that  Mr.  W.  D. 
Howletts  admires  so  much. 

"  'Ladies,'  says  Andy,  smiling  semicircularly,  'I 
am  truly  glad  to  visit  America.  I  do  not  consider  the 
magna  charta,'  says  he,  'or  gas  balloons  or  snow- 
shoes  in  any  way  a  detriment  to  the  beauty  and  charm 
of  your  American  women,  skyscrapers  or  the  archi- 
tecture of  your  icebergs.     The  next  time,'  says  Andy9 


A  Midsummer  Masquerade  97 

'that  I  go  after  the  North  Pole  all  the  Vanderbilts  in 
Greenland  won't  be  able  to  turn  me  out  in  the  cold  — 
I  mean  make  it  hot  for  me.' 

"  'Tell  us  about  one  of  your  trips,  Lieutenant,' 
^ays  one  of  the  normals. 

'"Sure,'  says  Andy,  getting  the  decision  over  a 
hiccup.  'It  was  in  the  spring  of  last  year  that  I 
sailed  the  Castle  of  Blenheim  up  to  latitude  87  de- 
grees Fahrenheit  and  beat  the  record.  Ladies,'  says 
Andy,  'it  was  a  sad  sight  to  see  a  Duke  allied  by  a 
civil  and  liturgical  chattel  mortgage  to  one  of  your 
first  families  lost  in  a  region  of  semiannual  days.' 
And  then  he  goes  on,  'At  four  bells  we  sighted  West- 
minster Abbey,  but  there  was  not  a  drop  to  eat.  At 
noon  we  threw  out  five  sandbags,  and  the  ship  rose 
fifteen  knots  higher.  At  midnight,'  continues  Andy, 
'the  restaurants  closed.  Sitting  on  a  cake  of  ice 
we  ate  seven  hot  dogs.  All  around  us  was  snow  and 
ice.  Six  times  a  night  the  boatswain  rose  up  and 
lore  a  leaf  off  the  calendar  so  we  could  keep  time 
irith  the  barometer.  At  12,'  says  Andy,  with  a  lot 
af  anguish  in  his  face,  'three  huge  polar  bears  sprang 
down  the  hatchway,  into  the  cabin.     And  then — ' 

'"What  then,  Lieutenant?'  says  a  schoolma'am, 
excitedly. 


98  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"Andy  gives  a  loud  sob. 

"  'The  Duchess  shook  me,'  he  cries  out,  and  slides 
out  of  the  chair  and  weeps  on  the  porch. 

"Well,  of  course,  that  fixed  the  scheme.  The 
women  boarders  all  left  the  next  morning.  The  land- 
lord wouldn't  speak  to  us  for  two  days,  but  when  he 
found  we  had  money  to  pay  our  way  he  loosened  up. 

"So  me  and  Andy  had  a  quiet,  restful  summer 
after  all,  coming  away  from  Crow  Knob  with  $1,100, 
that  we  enticed  out  of  old  Smoke-'em-out  playing 
seven  up." 


SHEARING  THE  WOLF 

JEFF  PETERS  was  always  eloquent  when  the 
ethics  of  his  profession  was  under  discussion. 

"The  only  times,"  said  he,  "that  me  and  Andy 
Tucker  ever  had  any  hiatuses  in  our  cordial  intents 
was  when  we  differed  on  the  moral  aspects  of  graft- 
ing. Andy  had  his  standards  and  I  had  mine.  I 
didn't  approve  of  all  of  Andy's  schemes  for  levying 
contributions  from  the  public,  and  he  thought  I  al- 
lowed my  conscience  to  interfere  too  often  for  the 
financial  good  of  the  firm.  We  had  high  arguments 
sometimes.  Once  one  word  led  on  to  another  till  he 
said  I  reminded  him  of  Rockefeller. 

"  'I  know  how  you  mean  that,  Andy,'  says  I,  'but 
we  have  been  friends  too  long  for  me  to  take  offense, 
at  a  taunt  that  you  will  regret  when  you  cool  off.  I 
have  yet,'  says  I,  'to  shake  hands  with  a  subpoena 
server.' 

"One  summer  me  and  Andy  decided  to  rest  up  a 
spell  in  a  fine  little  town  in  the  mountains  of  Ken- 
tucky called  Grassdale.      We  was  supposed  to  be  horse 

99 


100  The  Gentle  Grafter 

drovers,  and  good  decent  citizens  besides,  taking  a 
summer  vacation.  The  Grassdale  people  liked  us,  and 
me  and  Andy  declared  a  secession  of  hostilities,  never 
so  much  as  floating  the  fly  leaf  of  a  rubber  concession 
prospectus  or  flashing  a  Brazilian  diamond  while  we 
was  there. 

"One  day  the  leading  hardware  merchant  of  Grass- 
dale  drops  around  to  the  hotel  where  me  and  Andy 
stopped,  and  smokes  with  us,  sociable,  on  the  side 
porch.  We  knew  him  pretty  well  from  pitching 
quoits  in  the  afternoons  in  the  court  house  yard.  He 
was  a  loud,  red  man,  breathing  hard,  but  fat  and  re- 
spectable beyond  all  reason. 

"After  we  talk  on  all  the  notorious  themes  of  the 
day,  this  Murkison  —  for  such  was  his  entitlements 
—  takes  a  letter  out  of  his  coat  pocket  in  a  careful, 
careless  way  and  hands  it  to  us  to  read. 

"'Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that?'  says  he, 
laughing — 'a  letter  like  that  to  ME!' 

"Me  and  Andy  sees  at  a  glance  what  it  is :  but  we 
pretend  to  read  it  through.  It  was  one  of  them  old 
time  typewritten  green  goods  letters  explaining  how 
for  $1,000  you  could  get  $5,000  in  bills  that  an  ex- 
pert couldn't  tell  from  the  genuine;  and  going  on  to 
tell  how  they  were  made  from  plates  stolen  by  an  em- 
ployee of  the  Treasury  at  Washington. 


Shearing  the  Wolf 


101 


nznx 


UU_U 

LL.LU 
iU_l_U 


102  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"Think  of  'em  sending  a  letter  like  that  to  ME  !* 
says  Murkison  again. 

"  'Lot's  of  good  men  get  'em,'  says  Andy.  'If 
you  don't  answer  the  first  letter  they  let  you  drop. 
If  you  answer  it  they  write  again  asking  you  to  come 
on  with  your  money  and  do  business.' 

"  'But  think  of  'em  writing  to  ME !'  says  Murki- 
son. 

"A  few  days  later  he  drops  around  again. 

"'Boys,'  says  he,  'I  know  you  are  all  right  or  I 
wouldn't  confide  in  you.  I  wrote  to  them  rascals  again 
just  for  fun.  They  answered  and  told  me  to  come  on 
to  Chicago.  They  said  telegraph  to  J.  Smith  when  I 
would  start.  When  I  get  there  I'm  to  wait  on  a  cer^- 
tain  street  corner  till  a  man  in  a  gray  suit  comes 
along  and  drops  a  newspaper  in  front  of  me.  Then  I 
am  to  ask  him  how  the  water  is,  and  he  knows  it's  me 
and  I  know  it's  him.' 

"  'Ah,  yes,'  says  Andy,  gaping,  'it's  the  same  old 
game.  I've  often  read  about  it  in  the  papers.  Then 
he  conducts  you  to  the  private  abattoir  in  the  hotel, 
where  Mr.  Jones  is  already  waiting.  TIktv  show  you 
brand  new  real  money  and  sell  you  all  you  want  at 
five  for  one.  You  see  'em  put  it  in  a  satchel  for  you 
and  know  it's  there.  Of  course  it's  brown  paper  when 
you  come  to  look  at  it  afterward.' 


Shearing  the  Wolf 


103 


I. 

-Si 


104  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"'Oh,  they  couldn't  switch  it  on  me,'  says  Murki« 
son.  'I  haven't  built  up  the  best  paying  business  in 
Grassdale  without  having  witticisms  about  me.  You 
say  it's  real  money  they  show  you,  Mr.  Tucker?' 

"  'I've  always  —  I  see  by  the  papers  that  it  al- 
ways is,'  says  Andy. 

"  'Boj's,'  says  Murkison,  'I've  got  it  in  my  mind 
that  them  fellows  can't  fool  me.  I  think  I'll  put  a 
couple  of  thousand  in  my  jeans  and  go  up  there  and 
put  it  all  over  'em.  If  Bill  Murkison  gets  his  eyes 
once  on  them  bills  they  show  him  he'll  never  take  'em 
off  of  'em.  They  offer  $5  for  $1,  and  they'll  have  to 
stick  to  the  bargain  if  I  tackle  'em.  That's  the  kind 
of  trader  Bill  Murkison  is.  Yes,  I  jist  believe  I'll 
drop  up  Chicago  way  and  take  a  5  to  1  shot  on  J. 
Smith.     I  guess  the  water'll  be  fine  enough.' 

"Me  and  Andy  tries  to  get  this  financial  misquo- 
tation out  of  Murkison's  head,  but  we  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  keep  the  man  who  rolls  peanuts  with  a 
toothpick  from  betting  on  Bryan's  election.  No,  sir ; 
he  was  going  to  perform  a  public  duty  by  catching 
these  green  goods  swindlers  at  their  own  game. 
Maybe  it  would  teach  'em  a  lesson. 

"After  Murkison  left  us  me  and  Andy  sat  a  while 
prepondering  over  our  silent  meditations  and  heresies 
of  reason.     In  our  idle  hours  we  always  improved  our 


Shearing  the  Wolf 


105 


HCSvetfintQto 


4  Of  courze,  it's  brown  pap*" 


106  The  Gentle  Grafter 

higher  selves  by  ratiocination  and  mental  thought. 

"  'Jeff,'  says  Andy  after  a  long  time,  'quite  un- 
seldom  I  have  seen  fit  to  impugn  your  molars  when 
you  have  been  chewing  the  rag  with  me  about  your 
conscientious  way  of  doing  business.  I  may  have  been 
often  wrong.  But  here  is  a  case  where  I  think  we  can 
agree.  I  feel  that  it  would  be  wrong  for  us  to  allow 
Mr.  Murkison  to  go  alone  to  meet  those  Chicago 
green  goods  men.  There  is  but  one  way  it  can  end. 
Don't  you  think  he  would  both  feel  better  if  we  was 
to  intervene  in  some  way  and  prevent  the  doing  of 
this  deed?' 

"I  got  up  and  shook  Andy  Tucker's  hand  hard 
and  long. 

"  'Andy,'  says  I,  'I  may  have  had  one  or  two 
hard  thoughts  about  the  heartlessness  of  your  cor- 
poration, but  I  retract  'em  now.  You  have  a  kind 
nucleus  at  the  interior  of  your  exterior  after  all.  It 
does  you  credit.  I  was  just  thinking  the  same  thing 
that  you  have  expressed.  It  would  not  be  honorable 
or  praiseworthy,'  says  I,  'for  us  to  let  Murkison  go 
on  with  this  project  he  has  taken  up.  If  he  is  de- 
termined to  go  let  us  go  with  him  and  prevent  this 
swindle  from  coming  off.' 

"Andy  agreed  with  me ;  and  I  was  glad  to  see  that 


Shearing  the  Wolf  107j 

he  was  in  earnest  about  breaking  up  this  green  goods 
scheme. 

"  'I  don't  call  myself  a  religious  man,'  says  I,  'or 
a  fanatic  in  moral  bigotry,  but  I  can't  stand  still  and 
see  a  man  who  has  built  up  a  business  by  his  own 
efforts  and  brains  and  risk  be  robbed  by  an  unscrup- 
ulous trickster  who  is  a  menace  to  the  public  good.' 

"'Right,  Jeff,'  says  Andy.  'We'll  stick  right 
along  with  Murkison  if  he  insists  on  going  and  block 
this  funny  business.  I'd  hate  to  see  any  money 
dropped  in  it  as  bad  as  you  would.' 

"Well,  we  went  to  see  Murkison. 

'"No,  boys,'  says  he.  'I  can't  consent  to  let  the 
song  of  this  Chicago  siren  waft  by  me  on  the  summer 
breeze.  I'll  fry  some  fat  out  of  this  ignis  fatuus  or 
burn  a  hole  in  the  skillet.  But  I'd  be  plumb  diverted 
to  death  to  have  you  all  go  along  with  me.  Maybe 
you  could  help  some  when  it  comes  to  cashing  in  the 
ticket  to  that  5  to  1  shot.  Yes,  I'd  really  take  it  as  a 
pastime  and  regalement  if  you  boys  would  go  along 
too.' 

"Murkison  gives  it  out  in  Grassdale  that  he  is 
going  for  a  few  days  with  Mr.  Peters  and  Mr. 
Tucker  to  look  over  some  iron  ore  property  in  West 
Virginia.     He  wires  J.  Smith  that  he  wit!  set  foot  in 


108  The  Gentle  Grafter 

the  spider  web  on  a  given  date ;  and  the  three  of  us 
lights  out  for  Chicago. 

"On  the  way  Murkison  amuses  himself  with  pre- 
monitions and  advance  pleasant  recollections. 

"  'In  a  gray  suit,'  says  he,  'on  the  southwest 
.corner  of  Wabash  avenue  and  Lake  street.  He  drops 
the  paper,  and  I  ask  how  the  water  is.  Oh,  imr,  my, 
my !'     And  then  he  laughs  all  over  for  five  minutes. 

"Sometimes  Murkison  was  serious  and  tried  to  talk 
himself  out  of  his  cogitations,  whatever  they  was. 

"'Boys,'  says  he,  'I  wouldn't  have  this  to  get  out 
in  Grassdale  for  ten  times  a  thousand  dollars.  It 
would  ruin  me  there.  But  I  know  you  all  are  all 
right.  I  think  it's  the  duty  of  every  citizen,'  says 
he,  'to  try  to  do  up  these  robbers  that  prey  upon 
the  public.  I'll  show  'cm  whether  the  water's  fine. 
Five  dollars  for  one  —  that's  what  J.  Smith  offers, 
and  he'll  have  to  keep  his  contract  if  he  does  business 
with  Bill  Murkison.' 

"We  got  into  Chicago  about  7  p.  m.  Murkison 
was  to  meet  the  gray  man  at  half  past  9.  We  had 
dinner  at  a  hotel  and  then  went  up  to  Murkison's 
room  to  wait  for  the  time  to  come. 

"  'Now,  bo3Ts,'  says  Murkison,  'let's  get  our  gump- 
tion together  and  inoculate  a  plan  for  defeating  the 
enemy.     Suppose  while  I'm  exchanging  airy  bandage 


Shearing  the  Wolf  109 

with  the  gray  capper  you  gents  come  along,  by  ac- 
cident, you  know,  and  holler:  "Hello,  Murk'"  and 
shake  hands  with  symptoms  of  surprise  and  familiar- 
ity. Then  I  take  the  capper  aside  and  tell  him  you 
all  are  Jenkins  and  Brown  of  Grassdale,  groceries  and 
feed,  good  men  and  maybe  willing  to  take  a  chance 
while  away  from  home.' 

" '  "Bring  'em  along,"  he'll  say,  of  course,  "if 
they  care  to  invest."  Now,  how  does  that  scheme 
strike  you?' 

"'What  do  you  say,  Jeff?'  says  And}7,  looking 
at  me. 

"'Why,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  say,'  says  I.  'I  say 
let's  settle  this  thing  right  here  now.  I  don't  see  any 
use  of  wasting  any  more  time.'  I  took  a  nickel-plated 
.38  out  of  my  pocket  and  clicked  the  cylinder  around 
a  few  times. 

"  'You  undevout,  sinful,  insidious  hog,'  says  I  to 
Murkison,  'get  out  that  two  thousand  and  lay  it  on 
the  table.  Obey  with  velocity,'  says  I,  'for  otherwise 
alternatives  are  impending.  I  am  preferably  a  man  of 
mildness,  but  now  and  then  I  find  myself  in  the  mid- 
dle of  extremities.  Such  men  as  you,'  I  went  on  after 
he  had  laid  the  money  out,  'is  what  keeps  the  jails 
and  court  houses  going.  You  come  up  here  to  rob 
these  men  of  their  money.     Does  it  excuse  you?'  I 


110  The  Gentle  Grafter 

asks,  'that  they  were  trying  to  skin  you?  No,  sir; 
you  was  going  to  rob  Peter  to  stand  off  Paul.  You 
are  ten  times  worse,'  says  I,  'than  that  green  goods 
man.  You  go  to  church  at  home  and  pretend  to  be 
a  decent  citizen,  but  you'll  come  to  Chicago  and  com- 
mit larceny  from  men  that  have  built  up  a  sound  and 
profitable  business  by  dealing  with  such  contemptible 
scoundrels  as  you  have  tried  to  be  to-day.  How  do 
you  know,'  says  I,  'that  that  green  goods  man  hasn't 
a  large  family  dependent  upon  his  extortions?  It's 
you  supposedly  respectable  citizens  who  are  always 
on  the  lookout  to  get  something  for  nothing,'  says  I, 
'that  support  the  lotteries  and  wild-cat  mines  and 
stock  exchanges  and  wire  tappers  of  this  country.  If 
it  wasn't  for  you  they'd  go  out  of  business.  The 
green  goods  man  you  was  going  to  rob,'  says  I, 
'studied  maybe  for  years  to  learn  his  trade.  Every 
turn  he  makes  he  risks  his  money  and  liberty  and 
maybe  his  life.  You  come  up  here  all  sanctified  and 
vanoplied  with  respectability  and  a  pleasing  post 
office  address  to  swindle  him.  If  he  gets  the  money 
you  can  squeal  to  the  police.  If  you  get  it  he  hocks 
the  gray  suit  to  buy  supper  and  says  nothing.  Mr. 
Tucker  and  me  sized  you  up,'  says  I,  'and  came 
along  to  see  that  you  got  what  you  deserved.  Hand 
over  the  money,'  says  I,  'you  grass  fed  hypocrite.' 


Shearing  the  Wolf  111 

"I  put  the  two  thousand,  which  was  all  in  $20 
bills,  in  my  inside  pocket. 

"  'Now  get  out  your  watch,'  says  I  to  Murkison. 
'No,  I  don't  want  it,'  says  I.  'Lay  it  on  the  table 
and  you  sit  in  that  chair  till  it  ticks  off  an  hour. 
Then  you  can  go.  If  you  make  any  noise  or  leave 
any  sooner  we'll  handbill  you  all  over  Grassdale.  I 
guess  your  high  position  there  is  worth  more  than 
$2,000  to  you.' 

"Then  me  and  Andy  left. 

"On  the  train  Andy  was  a  long  time  silent.  Then 
he  says :  'Jeff,  do  you  mind  my  asking  you  a  ques- 
tion?' 

"'Two,'  says  I,  'or  forty.' 

"'Was  that  the  idea  you  had,'  says  he,  'when  we 
started  out  with  Murkison  ?' 

"'Why,  certainly,'  says  I.  'What  else  could  it 
have  been?     Wasn't  it  yours,  too?' 

"In  about  half  an  hour  Andy  spoke  again.  I 
think  there  are  times  when  Andy  don't  exactly  under- 
stand my  system  of  ethics  and  moral  hygiene. 

"  'Jeff,'  says  he,  'some  time  when  you  have  the 
leisure  I  wish  you'd  draw  off  a  diagram  and  foot- 
notes of  that  conscience  of  yours.  I'd  like  to  have  it 
to  refer  to  occasionally. 


> » 


INNOCENTS  OF  BROADWAY 

I  HOPE  some  day  to  retire  from  business,"  said 
Jeff  Peters;  "and  when  I  do  I  don't  want  anybody 
to  be  able  to  say  that  I  ever  got  a  dollar  of  any  man's 
money  without  giving  him  a  quid  pro  rata  for  it. 
I've  always  managed  to  leave  a  customer  some  little 
gewgaw  to  paste  in  his  scrapbook  or  stick  between 
his  Seth  Thomas  clock  and  the  wall  after  we  are 
through  trading. 

"There  was  one  time  I  came  near  having  to  break 
this  rule  of  mine  and  do  a  profligate  and  illaudable 
action,  but  I  was  saved  from  it  by  the  laws  and  stat- 
utes of  our  great  and  profitable  country. 

"One  summer  me  and  Andy  Tucker,  my  partner, 
went  to  New  York  to  lay  in  our  annual  assortment  of 
clothes  and  gents'  furnishings.  We  was  always  pom- 
pous and  regardless  dressers,  finding  that  looks  went 
further  than  anything  else  in  our  business,  except 
maybe  our  knowledge  of  railroad  schedules  and  an 
autograph  photo  of  the  President  that  Loeb  sent  us, 
probably  by  mistake.     Andy  wrote  a  nature  letter 

once  ana  sent  it  in  about  animals  that  he  had  seen 

112 


Innocents  of  Broadway  113 

caught  in  a  trap  lots  of  times.  Loeb  must  have  read 
it  'triplets,'  instead  of  'trap  lots,'  and  sent  the  photo. 
Anyhow,  it  was  useful  to  us  to  show  people  as  a  guar- 
antee of  good  faith. 

"Me  and  Andy  never  cared  much  to  do  business  in 
New  York.  It  was  too  much  like  pothunting.  Catch- 
ing suckers  in  that  town,  is  like  dynamiting  a  Texas 
lake  for  brass.  All  you  have  to  do  anywhere  between 
the  North  and  East  rivers  is  to  stand  in  the  street 
with  an  open  bag  marked,  'Drop  packages  of  money 
here.  No  checks  or  loose  bills  taken.'  You  have  a 
cop  handy  to  club  pikers  who  try  to  chip  in  post  office 
orders  and  Canadian  money,  and  that's  all  there  is 
to  New  York  for  a  hunter  who  loves  his  profession. 
So  me  and  Andy  used  to  just  nature  fake  the  town. 
We'd  get  out  our  spyglasses  and  watch  the  wood- 
cocks along  the  Broadway  swamps  putting  plaster 
casts  on  their  broken  legs,  and  then  we'd  sneak  away 
without  firing  a  shot. 

"One  day  in  the  papier  mache  palm  room  of  a 
chloral  hydrate  and  hops  agency  in  a  side  street  about 
eight  inches  off  Broadway  me  and  Andy  had  thrust 
upon  us  the  acquaintance  of  a  New  Yorker.  We  had 
beer  together  until  we  discovered  that  each  of  us 
knew  a  man  named  Hellsmith,  traveling  for  a  stove 
factory  in  Duluth.     This  caused  us  to  remark  that 


114  The  Gentle  Grafter 

the  world  was  a  very  small  place,  and  then  this  New 
Yorker  busts  his  string  and  takes  off  his  tin  foil  and 
excelsior  packing  and  starts  in  giving  us  his  Ellen 
Terris,  beginning  with  the  time  he  used  to  sell  shoe- 
laces to  the  Indians  on  the  spot  where  Tammany  Hall 
now  stands. 

"This  New  Yorker  had  made  his  money  keeping  a 
cigar  store  in  Beekman  street,  and  he  hadn't  been 
above  Fourteenth  street  in  ten  years.  Moreover,  he 
had  whiskers,  and  the  time  has  gone  by  when  a  true 
sport  will  do  anything  to  a  man  with  whiskers.  No 
grafter  except  a  boy  who  is  soliciting  subscribers  to 
an  illustrated  weekly  to  win  the  prize  air  rifle,  or  a 
widow,  would  have  the  heart  to  tamper  with  the  man 
behind  with  the  razor.  He  was  a  typical  city  Reub 
—  I'd  bet  the  man  hadn't  been  out  of  sight  of  a  sky- 
scraper in  twenty-five  years. 

"Well,  presently  this  metropolitan  backwoodsman 
pulls  out  a  roll  of  bills  with  an  old  blue  sleeve  elastic 
fitting  tight  around  it  and  opens  it  up. 

"  'There's  $5,000,  Mr.  Peters,'  says  he,  shoving  it 
over  the  table  to  me,  'saved  during  my  fifteen  years 
of  business.  Put  that  in  your  pocket  and  keep  it  for 
me,  Mr.  Peters.  I'm  glad  to  meet  you  gentlemen 
from  the  West,  and  I  may  take  a  drop  too  much.     I 


Innocents  of  Broadway  115 

want  you  to  take  care  of  my  money  for  me.     Now, 
let's  have  another  beer.' 

u'd  better  keep  this  yourself,'  says  I.     'We 


"I  leant  you  to  take  care  of  my  money  for  me." 

are  strangers  to  you,  and  you  can't  trust  everybody 
you  meet.  Put  your  roll  back  in  your  pocket,'  says 
I.     'And  you'd  better  run  along  home  before  some 


116  The  Gentle  Grafter 

farm-hand  from  the  Kaw  River  bottoms  strolls  in  here 
and  sells  you  a  copper  mine.' 

"  'Oh,  I  don't  know,'  says  Whiskers.  'I  guess 
Little  Old  New  York  can  take  care  of  herself.  I 
guess  I  know  a  man  that's  on  the  square  when  I  see 
him.  I've  always  found  the  Western  people  all 
right.  I  ask  you  as  a  favor,  Mr.  Peters,'  says  he, 
'to  keep  that  roll  in  your  pocket  for  me.  I  know  a 
gentleman  when  I  see  him.  And  now  let's  have  some 
more  beer.' 

"In  about  ten  minutes  this  fall  of  manna  leans 
back  in  his  chair  and  snores.  Andy  looks  at  me  and 
says:  'I  reckon  I'd  better  stay  with  him  for  five 
minutes  or  so,  in  case  the  waiter  comes  in.' 

"I  went  out  the  side  door  and  walked  half  a  block 
up  the  street.  And  then  I  came  back  and  sat  down  at 
the  table. 

"  'Andy,'  says  I,  'I  can't  do  it.  It's  too  much  like 
swearing  off  taxes.  I  can't  go  off  with  this  man's 
money  without  doing  something  to  earn  it  like  taking 
advantage  of  the  Bankrupt  act  or  leaving  a  bottle  of 
eczema  lotion  in  his  pocket  to  make  it  look  more  like 
a  square  deal.' 

"  'Well,'  says  Andy,  'it  does  seem  kind  of  hard  on 
one's  professional  pride  to  lope  off  with  a  bearded 
pard's  competency,  especially  after  he  has  nominated 


Innocents  of  Broadway  117 

you  custodian  of  his  bundle  in  the  sappy  insouciance 
of  his  urban  indiscrimination.  Suppose  we  wake  him 
up  and  see  if  we  can  formulate  some  commercial 
sophistry  by  which  he  will  be  enabled  to  give  us  both 
his  money  and  a  good  excuse.' 

"We  wakes  up  Whiskers.  He  stretches  himself 
and  yawns  out  the  hypothesis  that  he  must  have 
dropped  off  for  a  minute.  And  then  he  says  he 
wouldn't  mind  sitting  in  at  a  little  gentleman's  game 
of  poker.  He  used  to  play  some  when  he  attended 
high  school  in  Brookl}rn  ;  and  as  he  was  out  for  a  good 
time,  why  —  and  so  forth. 

"Andy  brights  up  a  little  at  that,  for  it  looks 
like  it  might  be  a  solution  to  our  financial  troubles. 
So  we  all  three  go  to  our  hotel  further  down  Broad- 
way and  have  the  cards  and  chips  brought  up  to 
AncW's  room.  I  tried  once  more  to  make  this  Babe 
in  the  Plorticultural  Gardens  take  his  five  thousand. 
But  no. 

"  'Keep  that  little  roll  for  me,  Mr.  Peters,'  says  he, 
'and  oblige.  I'll  ask  vou  fer  it  when  I  want  it.  I 
guess  I  know  when  I'm  among  friends.  A  man  that's 
done  business  on  Beekman  street  for  twenty  years, 
right  in  the  heart  of  the  wisest  little  old  village  on 
earth,  ought  to  know  what  he's  about.  I  guess  I 
can  tell  a  gentleman  from  a  con  man  or  a  flimflammer 


118  The  Gentle  Grafter 

when  I  meet  him.  I've  got  some  odd  change  in  my 
clothes  —  enough  to  start  the  game  with,  I  guess.' 

"He  goes  through  his  pockets  and  rains  $20  gold 
certificates  on  the  table  till  it  looked  like  a  $10,000 
'Autumn  Day  in  a  Lemon  Grove'  picture  by  Turner 
in  the  salons.     Andy  almost  smiled. 

"The  first  round  that  was  dealt,  this  boulevardier 
slaps  down  his  hand,  claims  low  and  jack  and  big 
casino  and  rakes  in  the  pot. 

"Andy  always  took  a  pride  in  his  poker  playing. 
He  got  up  from  the  table  and  looked  sadly  out  of 
the  window  at  the  street  cars. 

"  'Well,  gentlemen,'  sajTs  the  cigar  man,  'I  don't 
blame  }'ou  for  not  wanting  to  play.  I've  forgotten 
the  fine  points  of  the  game,  I  guess,  it's  been  so  long 
since  I  indulged.  Now,  how  long  are  you  gentlemen 
going  to  be  in  the  city?' 

"I  told  him  about  a  week  longer.  He  says  that'll 
suit  him  fine.  His  cousin  is  coming  over  from  Brook- 
lyn that  evening  and  they  are  going  to  see  the  sights 
of  New  York.  His  cousin,  he  says,  is  in  the  artificial 
limb  and  lead  casket  business,  and  hasn't  crossed  the 
bridge  in  eight  years.  They  expect  to  have  the  time 
of  their  lives,  and  he  winds  up  by  asking  me  to  keep 
his  roil  of  money  for  him  till  next  day.  I  tried  to  make 
him  take  it,  but  it  only  insulted  ham  to  mention  it. 


Innocents  of  Broadway  119 

"'I'll  use  what  I've  got  in  loose  change,'  says  he. 
'You  keep  the  rest  for  me.  I'll  drop  in  on  you  and 
Mr.  Tucker  to-morrow  afternoon  about  6  or  7,'  says 
he,  'and  we'll  have  dinner  together.     Be  good.' 

"After  Whiskers  had  gone  Andy  looked  at  me 
curious  and  doubtful. 

"  'Well,  Jeff,'  says  he,  'it  looks  like  the  ravens  are 
trying  to  feed  us  two  Elijahs  so  hard  that  if  we 
turned  'em  down  again  we  ought  to  have  the  Audu- 
bon Society  after  us.  It  won't  do  to  put  the  crown 
aside  too  often.  I  know  this  is  something  like  pater- 
nalism, but  don't  you  think  Opportunity  has  skinned 
its  knuckles  about  enough  knocking  at  our  door?' 

"I  put  my  feet  on  the  table  and  my  hands  in  my 
pockets,  which  is  an  attitude  unfavorable  to  frivolous 
thoughts. 

"  'Andy,'  says  I,  'this  man  with  the  hirsute  whis- 
kers has  got  us  in  a  predicament.  We  can't  move 
hand  or  foot  with  his  money.  You  and  me  have 
got  a  gentleman's  agreement  with  Fortune  that  we 
can't  break.  We've  done  business  in  the  West  where 
;jt's  more  of  a  fair  game.  Out  there  the  people  we 
skin  are  trying  to  skin  us,  even  the  farmers  and  the 
remittance  men  that  the  magazines  send  out  to  write 
up  Goldh'elds.  But  there's  little  sport  in  New  York 
city  for  rod,  reel  or  gun.     They  hunt  here  with  either 


120  The  Gentle  Grafter 

one  or  two  things  —  a  slungshot  or  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction. The  town  has  been  stocked  so  full  of  carp 
that  the  game  fish  are  all  gone.  If  you  spread  a  net 
here,  do  you  catch  legitimate  suckers  in  it,  such  as 
the  Lord  intended  to  be  caught  —  fresh  gu}'s  who 
know  it  all,  sports  with  a  little  coin  and  the  nerve  to 
play  another  man's  game,  street  crowds  out  for  the 
fun  of  dropping  a  dollar  or  two  and  village  smarties 
who  know  just  where  the  little  pea  is?  No,  sir,'  says 
I.  'What  the  grafters  live  on  here  is  widows  and 
orphans,  and  foreigners  who  save  up  a  bag  of  money 
and  hand  it  out  over  the  first  counter  they  see  with  an 
iron  railing  to  it,  and  factory  girls  and  little  shop- 
keepers that  never  leave  the  block  they  do  business  on. 
That's  what  they  call  suckers  here.  They're  nothing 
but  canned  sardines,  and  all  the  bait  you  need  to 
catch  'em  is  a  pocketknifc  and  a  soda  cracker. 

"  'Now,  this  cigar  man,'  I  went  on,  'is  one  of  the 
types.  He's  lived  twenty  years  on  one  street  without 
learning  as  much  as  you  would  in  getting  a  once- 
over shave  from  a  lock  jawed  barber  in  a  Kansas 
crossroads  town.  But  he's  a  New  Yorker,  and  he'll 
brag  about  that  all  the  time  when  he  isn't  picking  up 
live  wrires  or  getting  in  front  of  street  cars  or  paying 
out  money  to  wire-tappers  or  standing  under  a  safe 
that's  being  hoisted  into   a   sky-scraper.     When  a 


Innocents  of  Broadway  121 

New  Yorker  does  loosen  up,'  says  I,  'it's  like  the 
spring  decomposition  of  the  ice  jam  in  the  Allegheny 
River.  He'll  swamp  37ou  with  cracked  ice  and  back- 
water if  you  don't  get  out  of  the  way. 

"  'It's  mighty  lucky  for  us,  Andy,'  says  I,  'that 
this  cigar  exponent  with  the  parsley  dressing  saw  fit 
to  bedeck  us  with  his  childlike  trust  and  altruism. 
For,'  says  I,  'this  money  of  his  is  an  eyesore  to  my 
sense  of  rectitude  and  ethics.  We  can't  take  it, 
Andy;  you  know  we  can't,'  sa3Ts  I,  'for  we  haven't  a 
shadow  of  a  title  to  it  —  not  a  shadow.  If  there  was 
the  least  bit  of  a  way  we  could  put  in  a  claim  to  it  I'd 
be  willing  to  see  him  start  in  for  another  twenty  years 
and  make  another  $5,000  for  himself,  but  we  haven'^ 
sold  him  anything,  we  haven't  been  embroiled  in  a 
trade  or  anything  commercial.  He  approached  us 
friendly,'  says  I,  'and  with  blind  and  beautiful  idiocy 
laid  the  stuff  in  our  hands.  We'll  have  to  give  it 
back  to  him  when  he  wants  it.' 

"  'Your  arguments,'  says  Andy,  'are  past  criti- 
cism or  comprehension.  No,  we  can't  walk  off  with 
the  money  —  as  things  now  stand.  I  admire  }^our 
conscious  way  of  doing  business,  Jeff,'  says  Andy, 
'and  I  wouldn't  propose  anything  that  wasn't  square 
in  line  with  your  theories  of  morality  and  initiative. 
'But  I'll  be  away  to-night  and  most  of  to-morrow 


« <i 


122  The  Gentle  Grafter 


We  can't  take  it,  Andy. 


Innocents  of  Broadway  123 

Jeff,'  says  Andy.  'I've  got  some  business  affairs 
that  I  want  to  attend  to.  When  this  free  greenbacks 
party  comes  in  to-morrow  afternoon  hold  him  here 
till  I  arrive.  We've  all  got  an  engagement  for  din- 
ner, you  know.' 

"Well,  sir,  about  5  the  next  afternoon  in  trips  the 
cigar  man,  with  his  eyes  half  open. 

"'Been  having  a  glorious  time,  Mr.  Peters,'  says 
he.  'Took  in  all  the  sights.  I  tell  you  New  York 
is  the  onliest  only.  Now  if  you  don't  mind,'  says  he, 
'I'll  lie  down  on  that  couch  and  doze  off  for  about 
nine  minutes  before  Mr.  Tucker  comes.  I'm  not  used 
to  being  up  all  night.  And  to-morrow,  if  you  don't 
mind,  Mr.  Peters,  I'll  take  that  five  thousand.  I  met 
a  man  last  night  that's  got  a  sure  winner  at  the  race- 
track to-morrow.  Excuse  me  for  being  so  impolite 
as  to  go  to  sleep,  Mr.  Peters.' 

"And  so  this  inhabitant  of  the  second  city  in  the 
world  reposes  himself  and  begins  to  snore,  while  I  sit 
there  musing  over  things  and  wishing  I  was  back  in 
the  West,  where  you  could  always  depend  on  a  cus- 
tomer fighting  to  keep  his  money  hard  enough  to  let 
your  conscience  take  it  from  him. 

"At  half-past  5  Andy  come  in  and  sees  the  sleep- 
ing form. 

"'I've  been  over  to  Trenton,'  says  Andy,  pulling 


124 


The  Gentle  Grafter 


Innocents  of  Broadway  125 

a  document  out  of  his  pocket.  'I  think  I've  got  this 
matter  fixed  up  all  right,  Jeff.     Look  at  that.' 

"I  open  the  paper  and  see  that  it  is  a  corporation 
charter  issued  by  the  State  of  New  Jersey  to  'The 
Peters  &  Tucker  Consolidated  and  Amalgamated 
Aerial  Franchise  Development  Company,  Limited.' 

"  'It's  to  buy  up  rights  of  way  for  airship  lines,' 
explained  Andy.  'The  Legislature  wasn't  in  session, 
but  I  found  a  man  at  a  postcard  stand  in  the  lobby 
that  kept  a  stock  of  charters  on  hand.  There  are 
100,000  shares,'  says  Andy,  'expected  to  reach  a  par 
value  of  $1.  I  had  one  blank  certificate  of  stock 
printed.' 

"Andy  takes  out  the  blank  and  begins  to  fill  it  in 
with  a  fountain  pen. 

'"The  whole  bunch,'  says  he,  'goes  to  our  friend 
in  dreamland  for  $5,000.     Did  you  learn  his  name?' 

"  'Make  it  out  to  bearer,'  says  I. 

"We  put  the  certificate  of  stock  in  the  cigar  man's 
hand  and  went  out  to  pack  our  suit  cases. 

"On  the  ferryboat  Andy  says  to  me:  'Is  your 
conscience  easy  about  taking  the  money  now,  Jeff?' 

"'Why  shouldn't  it  be?'  says  I.  'Are  we  any 
better  than  any  other  Holding  Corporation?'" 


CONSCIENCE  IN  ART 


a 


I  NEVER  could  hold  my  partner,  Andy  Tucker, 
down  to  legitimate  ethics  of  pure  swindling,"  said 
Jeff  Peters  to  me  one  day. 

"Andy  had  too  much  imagination  to  be  honest. 
He  used  to  devise  schemes  of  money-getting  so  fraudu- 
lent and  high-financial  that  they  wouldn't  have  been 
allowed  in  the  bylaws  of  a  railroad  rebate  system. 

"Myself,  I  never  believed  in  taking  any  man's 
dollars  unless  I  gave  him  something  for  it  —  some- 
thing in  the  way  of  rolled  gold  jewelry,  garden  seeds, 
lumbago  lotion,  stock  certificates,  stove  polish  or  a 
crack  on  the  head  to  show  for  his  money.  I  guess  I 
must  have  had  New  England  ancestors  away  back 
and  inherited  some  of  their  stanch  and  rugged  fear 
of  the  police. 

"But  Andy's  family  tree  was  in  different  kind. 
I  don't  think  he  could  have  traced  his  descent  any 
further  back  than  a  corporation. 

"One  summer  while  we  was   in   the  middle  West, 

working  down  the  Ohio  valley  with  a  line  of  family 

126 


Conscience  in  Art  127 

albums,  headache  powders  and  roach  destroyer, 
Andy  takes  one  of  his  notions  of  high  and  actionable 
financiering. 

"  'Jeff,'  says  he,  'I've  been  thinking  that  we  ought 
to  drop  these  rutabaga  fanciers  and  give  our  atten- 
tion to  something  more  nourishing  and  prolific.  If 
we  keep  on  snapshooting  these  hinds  for  their  egg 
money  we'll  be  classed  as  nature  fakers.  How  about 
plunging  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  skyscraper  coun- 
try and  biting  some  big  bull  caribous  in  the  chest?' 

"  'Well,'  says  I,  'you  know  my  idiosyncrasies.  I 
prefer  a  square,  non-illegal  style  of  business  such  as 
we  are  carrying  on  now.  When  I  take  money  I  want 
to  leave  some  tangible  object  in  the  other  fellow's 
hands  for  him  to  gaze  at  and  to  distract  his  attention 
from  my  spoor,  even  if  it's  only  a  Komical  Kuss 
Trick  Finger  Ring  for  Squirting  Perfume  in  a 
Friend's  Eye.  But  if  you've  got  a  fresh  idea,  Andy,' 
says  I,  'let's  have  a  look  at  it.  I'm  not  so  wedded 
to  petty  graft  that  I  would  refuse  something  better 
in  the  way  of  a  subsidy.' 

"  'I  was  thinking,'  says  Andy,  'of  a  little  hunt 
without  horn,  hound  or  camera  among  the  great  herd 
of  the  Midas  Americanus,  commonly  known  as  the 
Pittsburg  millionaires.' 

"'In  New  York?'  I  asks. 


128  The  Gentle  Grafter 


a  ti 


'No,  sir,'  says  Andjr,  'in  Pittsburg.  That's 
their  habitat.  They  don't  like  New  York.  They  go 
there  now  and  then  just  because  it's  expected  of  'em.' 
"  'A  Pittsburg  millionaire  in  New  York  is  like  a 
fly  in  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  —  he  attracts  attention  and 
comment,  but  he  don't  enjoy  it.  New  York  ridicules 
him  for  "blowing"  so  much  money  in  that  town  of 
sneaks  and  snobs,  and  sneers.  The  truth  is,  he  don't 
spend  anything  while  he  is  there.  I  saw  a  memoran- 
dum of  expenses  for  a  ten  days  trip  to  Bunkum  Town 
made  by  a  Pittsburg  man  worth  $15,000,000  once. 
Here's  the  way  he  set  it  down : 

R.  R.  fare  to  and  from $     21  00 

Cab  fare  to  and  from  hotel 2  00 

Hotel  bill  @  $5  per  day 50  00 

Tips    5,750  00 

Total    $5,823  00 

"  'That's  the  voice  of  New  York,'  goes  on  Andy. 
'The  town's  nothing  but  a  head  waiter.  If  you  tip 
it  too  much  it'll  go  and  stand  by  the  door  and 
make  fun  of  you  to  the  hat  check  boy.  When  a  Pitts- 
burger  wants  to  spend  money  and  have  a  good  time  he 
stays  at  home.     That's  where  we'll  go  to  catch  him.' 

"Well,  to  make  a  dense  story  more  condensed,  me 
and  Andy  cached  our  paris  green  and  antipyrine 


Conscience  in  Art  12§ 

powders  and  albums  in  a  friend's  cellar,  and  took  the 
trail  to  Pittsburg.  Andy  didn't  have  any  especial 
prospectus  of  chicanery  and  violence  drawn  up,  but 
he  always  had  plenty  of  confidence  that  his  immoral 
nature  would  rise  to  any  occasion  that  presented 
itself. 

"As  a  concession  to  my  ideas  of  self-preservation 
and  rectitude  he  promised  that  if  I  should  take  an 
active  and  incriminating  part  in  any  little  business 
venture  that  we  might  work  up  there  should  be  some- 
thing actual  and  cognizant  to  the  senses  of  touch, 
sight,  taste  or  smell  to  transfer  to  the  victim  for  the 
money  so  my  conscience  might  rest  easy.  After  that 
I  felt  better  and  entered  more  cheerfully  into  the  foul 
phiy. 

"  'Andy,'  says  I,  as  we  strayed  through  the  smoke 
along  the  cinderpath  they  call  Smithfield  street,  'had 
you  figured  out  how  we  are  going  to  get  acquainted 
with  these  coke  kings  and  pig  iron  squeezers?  Not 
that  I  would  decry  my  own  worth  or  system  of  draw- 
ing room  deportment,  and  work  with  the  olive  fork 
and  pie  knife,'  says  I,  'but  isn't  the  entree  nous  into 
the  salons  of  the  stogie  smokers  going  to  be  harder 
than  you  imagined?' 

"'If  there's  any  handicap  at  all,'  says  Andy,  'it's 
our  own  refinement  and  inherent  culture.     Pittsburg 


130  The  Gentle  Grafter 

millionaires  are  a  fine  body  of  plain,  wholehearted, 
unassuming,  democratic  men. 

"  'They  are  rough  but  uncivil  in  their  manners, 
and  though  their  ways  are  boisterous  and  unpolished, 
under  it  all  they  have  a  great  deal  of  impoliteness 
and  discourtesy.  Nearly  every  one  of  'em  rose  from 
obscurity,'  says  Andy,  'and  they'll  live  in  it  till  the 
town  gets  to  using  smoke  consumers.  If  we  act  sim- 
ple and  unaffected  and  don't  go  too  far  from  the 
saloons  and  keep  making  a  noise  like  an  import  duty 
on  steel  rails  we  won't  have  any  trouble  in  meeting 
some  of  'em  socially.' 

"Well  Andy  and  me  drifted  about  town  three  or 
four  days  getting  our  bearings.  We  got  to  knowing 
several  millionaires   by    sight. 

"One  used  to  stop  his  automobile  in  front  of  our 
hotel  and  have  a  quart  of  champagne  brought  out  to 
him.  When  the  waiter  opened  it  he'd  turn  it  up  to  his 
mouth  and  drink  it  out  of  the  bottle.  That  showed 
he  used  to  be  a  glassblower  before  he  made  his  money. 

"One  evening  Andy  failed  to  come  to  the  hotel  for 
dinner.     About  11  o'clock  he  came  into  my  room. 

"'Landed  one,  Jeff,'  says  he.  'Twelve  millions. 
Oil,  rolling  mills,  real  estate  and  natural  gas.  He's  a 
fine  man ;  no  airs  about  him.  Made  all  his  money  in 
the  last  five  years.     He's  got  professors  posting  him 


Conscience  in  Art  131 

up  now  in  education  —  art  and  literature  and  haber- 
dashery and  such  things. 

"'When  I  saw  him  he'd  just  won  a  bet  of  $10,000 
with  a  Steel  Cor  :i  that  there'd  be  four 

suicides  in  the  Allegheny  rolling  mills  to-day.  So 
everybody  in  sight  had  to  walk  up  and  have  drinks 
on  him.  He  took  a  fancy  to  me  and  asked  me  to  din- 
ner with  him.  We  went  to  a  restaurant  in  Diamond 
alley  and  sat  on  stools  and  had  sparkling  Moselle  and 
clam  chowder  and  apple  fritters. 

"  'Then  he  wanted  to  show  me  his  bachelor  apart- 
ment on  Liberty  street.  He's  got  ten  rooms  over  a 
fish  market  with  privilege  of  the  bath  on  the  next 
floor  above.  lie  told  me  it  cost  him  $18,000  to  fur- 
nish his  apartment,  and  I  believe  it. 

"  'He's  got  $-10,000  worth  of  pictures  in  one 
room,  and  $20,000  worth  of  curios  and  antiques  in 
another.  His  name's  Scudder,  and  he's  4£,  and  tak- 
ing lessons  on  the  piano  and  15,000  barrels  of  oil  a 
dav  out  of  his  wells. 

"'All  right,'  says  I.  Preliminary  canter  satis- 
factory. But,  hay  vooly,  voo?  What  good  is  the 
art  junk  to  us?     And  the  oil?' 

'"Nov,  that  man,'  says  Andy,  sitting  thought- 
fully on  the  bed,  'ain't  what  you  would  call  an  ordi- 
nary scutt.     When  he  was  showing  me  his  cabinet  of 


132  The  Gentle  Grafter 

art  curios  his  face  lighted  up  like  the  door  of  a  coke 
oven.  He  says  that  if  some  of  his  big  deals  go 
through  he'll  make  J.  P.  Morgan's  collection  of 
sweatshop  tapestry  and  Augusta,  Me.,  beadwork  look 
like  the  contents  of  an  ostrich's  craw  thrown  on  a 
screen  by  a  magic  lantern. 

"'And  then  he  showed  me  a  little  carving,'  went 
on  Andy,  'that  anybody  could  see  was  a  wonderful 
thing.  It  was  something  like  2,000  years  old,  he  said. 
It  was  a  lotus  flower  with  a  woman's  face  in  it  carved 
out  of  a  solid  piece  of  ivory. 

"Scudder  looks  it  up  in  a  catalogue  and  describes 
it.  An  Egyptian  carver  named  Khafra  made  two  of 
'em  for  King  Rameses  II.  about  the  year  B.  C.  The 
other  one  can't  be  found.  The  junkshops  and  an- 
tique bugs  have  rubbered  all  Europe  for  it,  but  it 
seems  to  be  out  of  stock.  Scudder  paid  $2,000  for 
the  one  he  has.' 

"'Oh,  well,'  says  I,  'this  sounds  like  the  purling 
of  a  rill  to  me.  I  thought  we  came  here  to  teach  the 
millionaires  business,  instead  of  learning  art  from 
'em?' 

'"Be  patient,'  says  And}',  kindly.  'Maybe  we 
will  see  a  rift  in  the  smoke  ere  long.' 

"All  the  next  morning  Andy  was  out.  I  didn't 
see  him  until  about  noon.     He  came  to  the  hotel  and 


Conscience  in  Art  133 

called  me  into  his  room  across  the  hall.  He  pulled 
a  roundish  bundle  about  as  big  as  a  goose  egg  out  of 
his  pocket  and  unwrapped  it.  It  was  an  ivory  carv- 
ing just  as  he  had  described  the  millionaire's  to  me. 

"  'I  went  in  an  old  second  hand  store  and  pawn- 
shop a  while  ago,'  sa3rs  Andy,  'and  I  see  this  half 
hidden  under  a  lot  of  old  daggers  and  truck.  The 
pawnbroker  said  he'd  had  it  several  years  and  thinks 
it  was  soaked  by  some  Arabs  or  Turks  or  some  for- 
eign dubs  that  used  to  live  down  by  the  river. 

"  'I  offered  him  $2  for  it,  and  I  must  have  looked 
like  I  wanted  it,  for  he  said  it  would  be  taking  the 
pumpernickel  out  of  his  children's  mouths  to  hold 
any  conversation  that  did  not  lead  up  to  a  price  of 
$35.     I  finally  got  it  for  $25. 

"  'Jeff,'  goes  on  Andy,  'this  is  the  exact  counter- 
part of  Scudder's  carving.  It's  absolutely  a  dead 
ringer  for  it.  He'll  pay  $2,000  for  it  as  quick  as 
he'd  tuck  a  napkin  under  his  chin.  And  why 
shouldn't  it  be  the  genuine  other  one,  anyhow,  that 
the  old  gypsy  whittled  out?' 

"'Why  not,  indeed?'  says  I.  'And  how  shall  we 
go  about  compelling  him  to  make  a  voluntary  pur- 
chase of  it?' 

"Andy  had  his  plan  all  ready,  and  I'll  tell  you 
how  we  carried  it  out. 


134  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"I  got  a  pair  of  blue  spectacles,  put  on  my  black 
frock  coat,  rumpled  my  hair  up  and  became  Prof. 
Pickleman.  I  went  to  another  hotel,  registered,  and 
sent  a  telegram  to  Scudder  to  come  to  see  me  at  once 
on  important  art  business.  The  elevator  dumped 
him  on  me  in  less  than  an  hour.  He  was  a  foggy 
man  with  a  clarion  voice,  smelling  of  Connecticut 
wrappers  and  naphtha. 

"  'Hello,  Profess !'  he  shouts.  'How's  your  con- 
duct?' 

"I  rumpled  my  hair  some  more  and  gave  him  a 
blue  glass  stare. 

"'Sir,'  says  I.  'Are  you  Cornelius  T.  Scudder? 
Of  Pittsburg,  Pennsylvania?' 

"  'I  am,'  says  he.     'Come  out  and  have  a  drink.' 

"'1  have  neither  the  time  nor  the  desire,'  says  I, 
'for  such  harmful  and  deleterious  amusements.  I 
have  come  from  New  York,'  says  I,  'on  a  matter  of 
busi —  on  a  matter  of  art. 

"  'I  learned  there  that  you  are  the  owner  of  an 
Egyptian  ivory  carving  of  the  time  of  Rameses  II.. 
representing  the  head  of  Queen  Isis  in  a  lotus  flower. 
There  were  only  two  of  such  carvings  made.  One 
has  been  lost  for  many  years.  I  recently  discovered 
and  purchased  the  other  in  a  pawn  —  in  an  obscure 


Conscience  in  Art  135 

museum  in  Vienna.  I  wish  to  purchase  yours. 
Name  your  price.' 

"'Well,  the  great  ice  jams,  Profess!'  says  Scud- 
der.  'Have  you  found  the  other  one?  Me  sell? 
No.  I  don't  guess  Cornelius  Scudder  needs  to  sell 
anything  that  he  wants  to  keep.  Have  you  got  the 
carving  with  you,  Profess?' 

"I  shows  it  to  Scudder.  He  examines  it  careful 
all  over. 

"'It's  the  article,'  says  he.  'It's  a  duplicate  of 
mine,  every  line  and  curve  of  it.  Tell  you  what  I'll 
do,'  he  says.  'I  won't  sell,  but  I'll  buy.  Give  you 
$2,500  for  yours. 

"  'Since  3^ou  won't  sell,  I  will,'  says  I.  'Large 
bills,  please.  I'm  a  man  of  few  words.  I  must  re- 
turn to  New  York  to-night.  I  lecture  to-morrow  at 
the  aquarium.' 

"Scudder  sends  a  check  down  and  the  hotel  cashes 
it.  He  goes  off  with  his  piece  of  antiquity  and  I 
hurry  back  to  Andy's  hotel,  according  to  arrange- 
ment. 

"Andy  is  walking  up  and  down  the  room  looking 
at  his  watch. 

"'Well?' he  says. 

"  'Twenty-five  hundred,'  says  I.     'Cash.' 


138  The  Gentle  Grafter 

""We've  got  just  eleven  minutes,'  says  Andy,  'to 
catch  the  B.  &  0.  westbound.     Grab  your  baggage.' 

"  'What's  the  hurry,'  says  I.  'It  was  a  square 
deal.  And  even  if  it  w7as  only  an  imitation  of  the 
original  carving  it'll  take  him  some  time  to  find  it 
out.  He  seemed  to  be  sure  it  was  the  genuine  ar- 
ticle.' 

"'It  was,'  says  Andy.  'It  was  his  own.  When 
I  was  looking  at  his  curios  yesterday  he  stepped  out 
of  the  room  for  a  moment  and  I  pocketed  it.  Now, 
will  you  pick  up  your  suit  case  and  hurry?' 

"  'Then,'  says  I,  'why  was  that  story  about  find- 
ing another  one  in  the  pawn — " 

"  'Oh,'  says  Andy,  'out  of  respect  for  that  con- 
science of  yours.     Come  on.'  " 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP 

ACROSS  our  two  dishes  of  spaghetti,  in  a  corner 
of  Provenzano's  restaurant,  Jeff  Peters  was  explain- 
ing to  me  the  three  kinds  of  graft. 

Every  winter  Jeff  comes  to  New  York  to  eat  spa- 
ghetti, to  watch  the  shipping  in  East  River  from  the 
depths  of  his  chinchilla  overcoat,  and  to  lay  in  a  sup- 
ply of  Chicago-made  clothing  at  one  of  the  Fulton 
street  stores.  During  the  other  three  seasons  he  may 
be  found  further  west  —  his  range  is  from  Spokane 
to  Tampa.  In  his  profession  he  takes  a  pride  which 
he  supports  and  defends  with  a  serious  and  unique 
philosophy  of  ethics.  His  profession  is  no  new  one. 
He  is  an  incorporated,  uncapitalizcd,  unlimited  asy- 
lum for  the  reception  of  the  restless  and  unwise  dol- 
lars of  his  fellowmen. 

In  the  wilderness  of  stone  in  which  Jeff  seeks  his 

annual  lonely  holiday  he  is  glad  to  palaver  of  his 

many  adventures,  as  a  boy  will  whistle  after  sundown 

in  a  wood.     Wherefore,  I  mark  on  my  calendar  the 

time  of  his  coming,  and  open  a  question  of  privilege 

137 


138  The  Gentle  Grafter 

at  Provenzano's  concerning  the  little  wine-stained 
table  in  the  corner  between  the  rakish  rubber  plant 
and  the  framed  palazzio  della  something  on  the  wall. 

"There  are  two  kinds  of  grafts,"  said  Jeff,  "that 
ought  to  be  wiped  out  by  law.  I  mean  Wall  Street 
speculation,  and  burglary." 

"Nearly  everybody  will  agree  with  you  as  to  one 
of  them,"  said  I,  with  a  laugh. 

"Well,  burglary  ought  to  be  wiped  out,  too,"  said 
Jeff;  and  I  wondered  whether  the  laugh  had  been 
redundant. 

"About  three  months  ago,"  said  Jeff,  "it  was  my 
privilege  to  become  familiar  with  a  sample  of  each  of 
the  aforesaid  branches  of  illegitimate  art.  I  was 
sine  qua  grata  with  a  member  of  the  housebreakers' 
union' and  one  of  the  John  D.  Napoleons  of  finance 
at  the  same  time." 

"Interesting  combination,"  said  I,  with  a  yawn. 
"Did  I  tell  you  I  bagged  a  duck  and  a  ground-squir- 
rel at  one  shot  last  week  over  in  the  Ramapos?"  I 
knew  well  how  to  draw  Jeff's  stories. 

"Let  me  tell  you  first  about  these  barnacles  that 
clog  the  wheels  of  society  by  poisoning  the  springs 
of  rectitude  with  their  upas-like  eye,"  said  Jeff,  with 
the  pure  gleam  of  the  muck-raker  in  his  own. 

"As  I  said,  three  months  ago  I  got  into  bad  com- 


The  Man  Higher  Up  139 

pany.  There  are  two  times  in  a  man's  life  when  he 
does  this  —  when  he's  dead  broke,  and  when  he's 
rich. 

"Now  and  then  the  most  legitimate  business  runs 
out  of  luck.  It  was  out  in  Arkansas  I  made  the 
wrong  turn  at  a  cross-road,  and  drives  into  this  town 
of  Peavine  by  mistake.  It  seems  I  had  already  as- 
saulted and  disfigured  Peavine  the  spring  of  the  year 
before.  I  had  sold  $600  worth  of  3roung  fruit  trees 
there  —  plums,  cherries,  peaches  and  pears.  The 
Peaviners  were  keeping  an  e3Te  on  the  country  road 
and  hoping  I  might  pass  that  way  again.  I  drove 
down  Main  street  as  far  as  the  Crystal  Palace  drug- 
store before  I  realized  I  had  committed  ambush  upon 
myself  and  my  white  horse  Bill. 

"The  Peaviners  took  me  by  surprise  and  Bill  by 
the  bridle  and  began  a  conversation  that  wasn't  en- 
tirely disassociated  with  the  subject  of  fruit  trees. 
A  committee  of  'em  ran  some  trace-chains  through 
the  armholes  of  my  vest,  and  escorted  me  through 
their  gardens   and  orchard.;. 

"Their  fruit  trees  hadn't  lived  up  to  their  labels. 
Most  of  'em  had  turned  out  to  be  persimmons  and 
dogwoods,  with  a  grove  or  two  of  blackjacks  and 
poplars.  The  only  one  that  showed  any  signs  of 
bearing  anything  was  a  fine  young  cottonwood  that 


140  The  Gentle  Grafter 

had  put  forth  a  hornet's  nest  and  half  of  an  old  cor- 
set-cover. 

"The  Peavlners  protracted  our  fruitless  stroll  to 
the  edge  of  town.  They  took  my  watch  and  money 
on  account ;  and  they  kept  Bill  and  the  wagon  as 
hostages.  They  said  the  first  time  one  of  them  dog- 
wood trees  put  forth  an  Amsden's  June  peach  I 
might  come  back  and  get  my  things,  Then  they  took 
off  the  trace-chains  and  jerked  their  thumbs  in  the 
direction  of  the  Rocky  Mountains ;  and  I  struck  a 
Lewis  and  Clark  lope  for  the  swollen  rivers  and 
impenetrable  forests. 

"When  I  regained  intellectualness  I  found  myself 
walking  into  an  unidentified  towm  on  the  A.,  T.  &  S. 
F.  railroad.  The  Peaviners  hadn't  left  anything  in 
my  pockets  except  a  plug  of  chewing  —  they  wasn't 
after  my  life  —  and  that  saved  it.  I  bit  off  a  chunk 
and  sits  down  on  a  pile  of  ties  by  the  track  to  recog- 
itate  my  sensations  of  thought  and  perspicacity. 

"And  then  along  comes  a  fast  freight  which  slows 
up  a  little  at  the  town ;  and  off  of  it  drops  a  black 
bundle  that  rolls  for  twenty  yards  in  a  cloud  of  dust 
and  then  gets  up  and  begins  to  spit  soft  coal  and 
interjections.  I  see  it  is  a  young  man  broad  across 
the  face,  dressed  more  for  Pullmans  than  freights, 
and  with  a  cheerful  kind  of  smile  in  spite  of  it  all 


The  Man  Higher  Up  141 

that  made  Phoebe  Snow's  job  look  like  a  chimney- 
sweep's. 

"  'Fall  off?'  says  I. 

"  'Nunk,'  says  he.  'Got  off.  Arrived  at  my  des- 
tination.    What  town  is  this?' 

"  'Haven't  looked  it  up  on  the  map  yet,'  says  I. 
'I  got  in  about  five  minutes  before  you  did.  How 
does  it  strike  you?' 

"  'Hard,'  says  he,  twisting  one  of  his  arms  around. 
*I  believe  that  shoulder  —  no,  it's  all  right.' 

"He  stoops  over  to  brush  the  dust  off  his  clothes, 
when  out  of  his  pocket  drops  a  fine,  nine-inch  burg- 
lar's steel  jimmy.  He  picks  it  up  and  looks  at  me 
sharp,  and  then  grins  and  holds  out  his  hand. 

"  'Brother,'  says  he,  'greetings.  Didn't  I  see  you 
in  Southern  Missouri  last  summer  selling  colored  sand 
at  half-a-dollar  a  teaspoonful  to  put  into  lamps  to 
keep  the  oil  from  exploding?' 

"'Oil,'  says  I,  'never  explodes.  It's  the  gas  that 
forms  that  explodes.'  But  I  shakes  hands  with  him, 
anyway. 

"  'My  name's  Bill  Bassett,"  says  he  to  me,  'and  if 
you'll  call  it  professional  pride  instead  of  conceit,  I'll 
inform  you  that  3tou  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
the  best  burglar  that  ever  set  a  gum-shoe  on  ground 


drained  hy  the  Mississippi  River. 


142  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"Well,  me  and  this  Bill  Bassctt  sits  on  the  ties 
and  exchanges  brags  as  artists  in  kindred  lines  will 
do.  It  seems  he  didn't  have  a  cent,  either,  and  we 
went  into  close  caucus.  He  explained  why  an  able 
burglar  sometimes  had  to  travel  on  freights  by  telling 
me  that  a  servant  girl  had  played  him  false  in  Little 
Rock,  and  he  was  making  a  quick  get-away. 

"  'It's  part  of  my  business,'  saj's  Bill  Bassctt,  'to 
play  up  to  the  ruffles  when  I  want  to  make  a  riffle  as 
Raffles.  'Tis  loves  that  makes  the  bit  go  'round. 
Show  me  a  house  with  the  swag  in  it  and  a  pretty 
parlor-maid,  and  you  might  as  well  call  the  silver 
melted  down  and  sold,  and  me  spilling  truffles  and  that 
Chateau  stuff  on  the  napkin  under  my  chin,  while  the 
police  are  calling  it  an  inside  job  just  because  the  old 
lady's  nephew  teaches  a  Bible  class.  I  first  make  an 
impression  on  the  girl,'  says  Bill,  'and  when  she  lets 
me  inside  I  make  an  impression  on  the  locks.  But 
this  one  in  Little  Rock  done  me,'  says  he.  'She  saw 
me  taking  a  trolley  ride  with  another  girl,  and  when 
I  came  'round  on  the  night  she  was  to  leave  the  door 
open  for  me  it  was  fast.  And  I  had  keys  made  for 
the  doors  upstairs.  But,  no  sir.  She  had  sure  cut 
off  my  locks.     She  was  a  Delilah,'  says  Bill  Bassett. 

"It  seems  that  Bill  tried  to  break  in  anyhow  with 
his  jimnry,  but  the  girl  emitted  a  succession  of  bra- 


The  Man  Higher  Up  143 

vura  noises  like  the  top-riders  of  a  tally-ho,  and  Bill 
had  to  take  all  the  hurdles  between  there  and  the 
depot.  As  he  had  no  baggage  they  tried  hard  to 
check  his  departure,  but  he  made  a  train  that  was 
just  pulling  out. 

« 'Well,'  says  Bill  Bassett,  when  we  had  exchanged 
memoirs  of  our  dead  lives,  'I  could  eat.  This  town 
don't  look  like  it  was  kept  under  a  Yale  lock.  Sup- 
pose we  commit  some  mild  atrocity  that  will  bring 
in  temporary  expense  money.  I  don't  suppose 
you've  brought  along  any  hair  tonic  or  rolled  gold 
watch-chains,  or  similar  law-defying  swindles  that 
you  could  sell  on  the  plaza  to  the  pikers  of  the 
paretic  populace,  have  you?' 

"'No,'  says  I,  'I  left  an  elegant  line  of  Pata- 
gonian  diamond  earrings  and  rainy-day  sunbursts  in 
my  valise  at  Peavine.  But  they're  to  stay  there  till 
some  of  them  black-gum  trees  begin  to  glut  the  mar- 
ket with  yellow  clings  and  Japanese  plums.  I  reckon 
we  can't  count  on  them  unless  we  take  Luther  Bur- 
bank  in  for  a  partner.' 

«  'Very  well,'  says  Bassett,  'we'll  do  the  best  we 
can.  Maybe  after  dark  I'll  borrow  a  hairpin  from 
some  lady,  and  open  the  Farmers  and  Drovers  Marine 
Bank  with  it.' 

"While  we  were  talking,  up  pulls  a  passenger  train 


144  The  Gentle  Grafter 

to  the  depot  near  by.  A  person  in  a  high  hat  gets  of? 
on  the  wrong  side  of  the  train  and  comes  tripping 
down  the  track  towards  us.  He  was  a  little,  fat  man 
with  a  big  nose  and  rat's  eyes,  but  dressed  expensive, 
and  carrying  a  hand-satchel  careful,  as  if  it  had  eggs 
or  railroad  bonds  in  it.  He  passes  by  us  and  keeps 
on  down  the  track,  not  appearing  to  notice  the  town. 

"  'Come  on,'  says  Bill  Bassett  to  me,  starting  after 
him, 

"'Where?'  I  asks. 

"  'Lordy !'  says  Bill,  'had  you  forgot  you  was  in 
the  desert?  Didn't  you  see  Colonel  Manna  drop 
down  right  before  your  eyes?  Don't  j^ou  hear  the 
rustling  of  General  Raven's  wings?  I'm  surprised 
at  you,  Elijah.' 

"We  overtook  the  stranger  in  the  edge  of  some 
woods,  and,  as  it  was  after  sun-down  and  in  a  quiet 
place,  nobody  saw  us  stop  him.  Bill  takes  the  silk 
hat  off  the  man's  head  and  brushes  it  with  his  sleeve 
and  puts  it  back. 

"'What  does  this  mean,  sir?'  says  the  man. 

'"When  I  wore  one  of  these,'  says  Bill,  'and  felt 
embarrassed,  I  always  done  that.  Not  having  one 
now  I  had  to  use  yours.  I  hardly  know  how  to  be- 
gin, sir,  in  explaining  our  business  with  you,  but  I 
guess  we'll  try  3rour  pockets  first.' 


The  31 an  Higher  Up  145 

"Bill  Bassett  felt  in  all  of  them,  and  looked  dis- 
gusted. 

"  'Not  even  a  watch,'  he  says.  'Ain't  you  ashamed 
of  yourself,  you  whited  sculpture?  Going  about 
dressed  like  a  head-waiter,  and  financed  like  a  Count! 
You  haven't  even  got  carfare.  What  did  you  do 
with  your  transfer?' 

"The  man  speaks  up  and  says  he  has  no  assets  or 
valuables  of  any  sort.  But  Bassett  takes  his  hand- 
satchel  and  opens  it.  Out  comes  some  collars  and 
socks  and  a  half  a  page  of  a  newspaper  clipped  out. 
Bill  reads  the  clipping  careful,  and  holds  out  his  hand 
to  the  held-up  party. 

"  'Brother,'  says  he,  'greetings !  Accept  the 
apologies  of  friends.  I  am  Bill  Bassett,  the  burglar. 
Mr.  Peters,  }Tou  must  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mr. 
Alfred  E.  Ricks.  Shake  hands.  Mr.  Peters,'  says 
Bill,  'stands  about  halfway  between  me  and  you,  Mr. 
Ricks,  in  the  line  of  havoc  and  corruption.  He  al- 
ways gives  something  for  the  money  he  gets.  I'm 
glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Ricks  —  you  and  Mr.  Peters. 
This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  attended  a  full  gathering 
of  the  National  Synod  of  Sharks  —  housebreaking, 
swindling,  and  financiering  all  represented.  Please 
examine  Mr.  Rick's  credentials,  Mr.  Peters.' 

"The  piece  of  newspaper  that  Bill  Bassett  handed 


146  The  Gentle  Grafter 

me  iiad  a  good  picture  of  this  Ricks  on  it.  It  was  a 
Chicago  paper,  and  it  had  obloquies  of  Ricks  in  every 
paragraph.  By  reading  it  over  I  harvested  the  in- 
telligence that  said  alleged  Ricks  had  laid  off  all  that 
portion  of  the  State  of  Florida  that  lies  under  water 
into  town  lots  and  sold  'em  to  alleged  innocent  in- 
vestors from  his  magnificently  furnished  offices  in 
Chicago.  After  he  had  taken  in  a  hundred  thousand 
or  so  dollars  one  of  these  fussy  purchasers  that  are 
always  making  trouble  (I've  had  'em  actually  try  gold 
watches  I've  sold  'em  with  acid)  took  a  cheap  excur- 
sion down  to  the  land  where  it  is  always  just  before 
supper  to  look  at  his  lot  and  see  if  it  didn't  need  a 
new  paling  or  two  on  the  fence,  and  market  a  few 
lemons  in  time  for  the  Christmas  present  trade.  He 
hires  a  survej^or  to  find  his  lot  for  him.  They  run 
the  line  out  and  find  the  flourishing  town  of  Paradise 
Hollow;  so  advertised,  to  be  about  40  rods  and  16 
poles  S.,  27°  E.  of  the  middle  of  Lake  Okeechobee. 
This  man's  lot  was  under  thirty-six  feet  of  water, 
and,  besides,  had  been  preempted  so  long  by  the  alli- 
gators and  gars  that  his  title  looked  fishy. 

"Naturally,  the  man  goes  back  to  Chicago  and 
makes  it  as  hot  for  Alfred  E.  Ricks  as  the  morning 
after  a  prediction  of  snow  by  the  weather  bureau. 
Ricks  defied  the  allegation,  but  he  couldn't  deny  the 


The  Man  Higher  Up  147 

alligators.  One  morning  the  papers  came  out  with 
a  column  about  it,  and  Ricks  come  out  by  the  fire- 
escape.  It  seems  the  alleged  authorities  had  beat  him 
to  the  safe-deposit  box  where  he  kept  his  winnings, 
and  Ricks  has  to  westward  ho !  with  only  feetwear 
and  a  dozen  lo1/^.  English  pokes  in  his  shopping  bag. 
He  happened  to  have  some  mileage  left  in  his  book, 
and  that  took  him  as  far  as  the  town  in  the  wilder- 
ness where  he  was  spilled  out  on  me  and  Bill  Bassett 
as  Elijah  III.  with  not  a  raven  in  sight  for  any  of  us. 

"Then  this  Alfred  E.  Ricks  lets  out  a  squeak  that 
he  is  hungry,  too,  and  denies  the  hypothesis  that  he 
is  good  for  the  value,  let  alone  the  price,  of  a  meal. 
And  so,  there  was  the  three  of  us,  representing,  if 
we  had  a  mind  to  draw  syllogisms  and  parabolas, 
labor  and  trade  and  capital.  Now,  when  trade  has 
no  capital  there  isn't  a  dicker  to  be  made.  And 
when  capital  has  no  money  there's  a  stagnation  in 
steak  and  onions.  That  put  it  up  to  the  man  with 
the  jimmy. 

"  'Brother  bushrangers,'  says  Bill  Bassett,  'never 
yet,  in  trouble,  did  I  desert  a  pal.  Hard  by,  in  yon 
wood,  I  seem  to  see  unfurnished  lodgings.  Let  us  go 
there  and  wait  till  dark.' 

"There  was  an  old,  deserted  cabin  in  the  grove, 
and  we  three  took  possession  of  it.     After  dark  Bill 


148  The  Gentle  Grafter 

Bassctt  tells  us  to  wait,  and  goes  out  for  half  an 
hour.  He  comes  back  with  a  armful  of  bread  and 
spareribs  and  pics. 

"'Panhandled  'em  at  a  farmhouse  on  Washita 
Avenue,'  says  he.     'Eat,  drink  and  be  leary.' 

"The  full  moon  was  coming  up  bright,  so  we  sat 
on  the  floor  of  the  cabin  and  ate  in  the  light  of  it. 
And  this  Bill  Bassett  begins  to  brag. 

"  'Sometimes,'  says  he,  with  his  mouth  full  of 
country  produce,  'I  lose  all  patience  with  you  people, 
that  think  you  are  higher  up  in  the  profession  than 
I  am.  Now,  what  could  either  of  you  have  done  in 
the  present  emergency  to  set  us  on  our  feet  again? 
Could  you  do  it,  Ricksy?' 

"  'I  must  confess,  Mr.  Bassett,'  says  Ricks,  speak- 
ing nearly  inaudible  out  of  a  slice  of  pie,  'that  at 
this  immediate  juncture  I  could  not,  perhaps,  pro- 
mote an  enterprise  to  relieve  the  situation.  Large 
operations,  such  as  I  direct,  naturally  require  careful 
preparation  in  advance.     I — ' 

'"I  know,  Ricksy,'  breaks  in  Bill  Bassett.  'You 
needn't  finish.  You  need  $500  to  make  the  first  pay- 
ment on  a  blond  typewriter,  and  four  roomsful  of 
quartered  oak  furniture.  And  you  need  $500  more' 
for  advertising  contracts.  And  you  need  two  weeks' 
time  for  the  fish  to  begin  to  bite.     Your  line  of  relief 


The  Man  Higher  Up  149 

would  be  about  as  useful  in  an  emergency  as  advo- 
cating municipal  ownership  to  cure  a  man  suffocated 
by  eighty-cent  gas.  And  youv  graft  ain't  much 
swifter,  Brother  Peters,'   he  winds   up. 

"  'Oh,'  says  I,  'I  haven't  seen  you  turn  anything 
into  gold  with  your  wand  yet,  Mr.  Good  Fairy. 
'Most  anybody  could  rub  the  magic  ring  for  a  little 
left-over  victuals.' 

"  'That  was  only  getting  the  pumpkin  readjr,'  says 
Bassett,  braggy  and  cheerful.  'The  coach  and  six'll 
drive  up  to  the  door  before  you  know  it,  Miss  Cin- 
derella. Maybe  you've  got  some  scheme  under  your 
sleeve-holders  that  will  give  us  a  start.' 

"  'Son,'  says  I,  'I'm  fifteen  years  older  than  you 
are,  and  young  enough  yet  to  take  out  an  endowment 
policy.  I've  been  broke  before.  We  can  see  the 
lights  of  that  town  not  half  a  mile  away.  I  learned 
under  Montague  Silver,  the  greatest  street  man  that 
ever  spoke  from  a  wagon.  There  are  hundreds  of 
men  walking  those  streets  this  moment  with  grease 
spots  on  their  clothes.  Give  me  a  gasoline  lamp,  a 
dry-goods  box,  and  a  two-dollar  bar  of  white  castile 
soap,  cut  into  little — ' 

"  'Where's  your  two  dollars  ?'  snickered  Bill  Bas- 
sett into  my  discourse.  There  was  no  use  arguing 
with  that  burglar. 


150  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"'No,'  he  goes  on;  'you're  both  babes-in-the- 
wood.  Finance  has  closed  the  mahogany  desk,  and 
trade  has  put  the  shutters  up.  Both  of  you  look  to 
labor  to  start  the  wheels  going.  All  right.  You  ad- 
mit it.  To-night  I'll  show  you  what  Bill  Bassett  can 
do.' 

"Bassett  tells  me  and  Ricks  not  to  leave  the  cabin 
till  he  comes  back,  even  if  it's  daylight,  and  then  he 
starts  off'  toward  town,  whistling  gay. 

"This  Alfred  E.  Ricks  pulls  off  his  shoes  and  his 
coat,  lays  a  silk  handkerchief  over  his  hat,  and  lays 
down  on  the  floor. 

"  'I  think  I  will  endeavor  to  secure  a  little  slumber,' 
he  squeaks.  'The  clay  has  been  fatiguing.  Good- 
night, my  dear  Mr.  Peters.' 

"  'My  regards  to  Morpheus,'  says  I.  'I  think  I'll 
sit  up  a  while.' 

"About  two  o'clock,  as  near  as  I  could  guess  by 
my  watch  in  Peavine,  home  comes  our  laboring  man 
and  kicks  up  Ricks,  and  calls  us  to  the  streak  of 
bright  moonlight  shining  in  the  cabin  door.  Then  he 
spreads  out  five  packages  of  one  thousand  dollars 
each  on  the  floor,  and  begins  to  cackle  over  the  nest- 
egg  like  a  hen. 

"  'I'll  tell  you  a  few  things  about  that  town.'  says 
he.     'It's  named  Rocky  Springs,  and  the3T're  build- 


The  Man  Higher  Up  151 

ing  a  Masonic  temple,  and  it  looks  like  the  Demo- 
cratic candidate  for  mayor  is  going  to  get  soaked  by 
a  Pop,  and  Judge  Tucker's  wife,  who  has  been  down 
with  pleurisy,  is  some  better.  I  had  a  talk  on  these 
liliputian  thesises  before  I  could  get  a  siphon  in  the 
fountain  of  knowledge  that  I  was  after.  And  there's 
a  bank  there  called  the  Lumberman's  Fidelity  and 
Plowman's  Savings  Institution.  It  closed  for  busi- 
ness yesterday  with  $23,000  cash  on  hand.  It  will 
open  this  morning  with  $18,000  —  all  silver  —  that's 
the  reason  I  didn't  bring  more.  There  you  are,  trade 
/and  capital.     Now,  will  you  be  bad?' 

"'My  young  friend,'  says  Alfred  E.  Ricks,  hold- 
ing up  his  hands,  'have  you  robbed  this  bank?  Dear 
me,  dear  me !' 

"  'You  couldn't  call  it  that,'  says  Bassett.  '  "Rob- 
bing" sounds  harsh.  All  I  had  to  do  was  to  find  out 
what  street  it  was  on.  That  town  is  so  quiet  that  I 
could  stand  on  the  corner  and  hear  the  tumblers  click- 
ins  in  that  safe  lock  — "right  to  45  ;  left  twice  to  80 ; 
right  once  to  60;  left  to  15" — as  plain  as  the  Yale 
captain  giving  orders  in  the  football  dialect.  Now, 
boys,'  says  Bassett,  'this  is  an  early  rising  town. 
They  tell  me  the  citizens  are  all  up  and  stirring 
before  daylight.  I  asked  what  for,  and  they  said 
because   breakfast   was    ready    at    that    time.     And 


152  The  Gentle  Grafter 

what  of  merry  Robin  Hood?  It  must  be  Yoicks! 
and  away  with  the  tinkers'  chorus.  I'll  stake  you. 
How  much  do  you  want?     Speak  up.     Capital.' 

"  'My  dear  young  friend,'  says  this  ground  squir- 
rel of  a  Ricks,  standing  on  his  hind  legs  and  juggling 
nuts  in  his  paws,  'I  have  friends  in  Denver  who 
would  assist  me.     If  I  had  a  hundred  dollars  I — ' 

"Bassett  unpins  a  package  of  the  currency  and 
throws  five  twenties  to  Ricks. 

"'Trade,  how  much?'  he  says  to  me. 

"'Put  your  money  up,  Labor,'  says  I.  'I  never 
yet  drew  upon  honest  toil  for  its  hard-earned  pit- 
tance. The  dollars  I  get  are  surplus  ones  that  are 
burning  the  pockets  of  damfools  and  greenhorns. 
When  I  stand  on  a  street  corner  and  sell  a  solid  gold 
diamond  ring  to  a  yap  for  $3.00,  I  make  just  $2.60. 
And  I  know  he's  going  to  give  it  to  a  girl  in  return 
for  all  the  benefits  accruing  from  a  $125.00  ring. 
His  profits  are  $122.00.  Which  of  us  is  the  biggest 
fakir?' 

"'And  when  you  sell  a  poor  woman  a  pinch  of 
sand  for  fifty  cents  to  keep  her  lamp  from  explod- 
ing,' says  Bassett,  'what  do  you  figure  her  gross 
earnings  to  be,  with  sand  at  forty  cents  a  ton?' 

"  'Listen,'  says  I.  'I  instruct  her  to  keep  her 
lamp  clean  and  well  filled.     If  she  does  that  it  can't 


The  Man  Higher  Up  153 

burst.  And  with  the  sand  in  it  she  knot's  it  can't, 
and  she  don't  worry.  It's  a  kind  of  Industrial  Chris- 
tian Science.  She  pays  fifty  cents,  and  gets  both 
Rockefeller  and  Mrs.  Eddy  on  the  job.  It  ain't 
everybody  that  can  let  the  gold-dust  twins  do  their 
work.' 

"Alfred  E.  Ricks  all  but  licks  the  dust  off  of  BUI 
Bassett's  shoes. 

"  'My  dear  young  friend,'  says  he,  'I  will  never 
forget  your  generosity.  Heaven  will  reward  you. 
But  let  me  implore  you  to  turn  from  your  ways  of 
violence  and  crime.' 

"  'Mousie,'  says  Bill,  'the  hole  in  the  wainscoting 
for  yours.  Your  dogmas  and  inculcations  sound  to 
me  like  the  last  words  of  a  bicycle  pump.  What  has 
your  high  moral,  elevator-service  system  of  pillage 
brought  you  to?  Penuriousness  and  want.  Even 
Brother  Peters,  who  insists  upon  contaminating  the 
art  of  robbery  with  theories  of  commerce  and  trade, 
admitted  he  was  on  the  lift.  Both  of  you  live  by  the 
gilded  rule.  Brother  Peters,'  says  Bill,  'you'd  better 
choose  a  slice  of  this  embalmed  currency.  You're 
welcome.' 

"I  told  Bill  Bassett  once  more  to  put  his  money  in 
his  pocket.  I  never  had  the  respect  for  burglary  that 
some  people  have.     I  always  gave  something  for  the 


154  The  Gentle  Grafter 

money  I  took,  even  if  it  was  only  some  little  trifle  for 
a  souvenir  to  remind  'em  not  to  get  caught  again. 

"And  then  Alfred  E.  Ricks  grovels  at  Bill's  feet 
again,  and  bids  us  adieu.  He  says  he  will  have  a 
"ieam  at  a  farmhouse,  and  drive  to  the  station  below, 
and  take  the  train  for  Denver.  It  salubrified  the  at- 
mosphere when  that  lamentable  boll-worm  took  his 
Jeparture.  He  was  a  disgrace  to  every  non-industrial 
profession  in  the  country.  With  all  his  big  schemes 
and  fine  offices  he  had  wound  up  unable  even  to  get 
an  honest  meal  except  by  the  kindness  of  a  strange 
and  maybe  unscrupulous  burglar.  I  was  glad  to  see 
him  go,  though  I  felt  a  little  sorry  for  him,  now  that 
he  was  ruined  forever.  What  could  such  a  man  do 
without  a  big  capital  to  work  with?  Why,  Alfred 
E.  Ricks,  as  we  left  him,  was  as  helpless  as  a  turtle 
on  its  back.  He  couldn't  have  worked  a  scheme  to 
beat  a  little  girl  out  of  a  penny  slate-pencil. 

"When  me  and  Bill  Bassett  was  left  alone  I  did  a 
little  sleight-of  mind  turn  in  my  head  with  a  trade 
secret  at  the  end  of  it.  Thinks  I,  I'll  show  this  Mr. 
Burglar  Man  the  difference  between  business  and  la- 
bor. He  had  hurt  some  of  my  professional  self- 
adulation  by  casting  his  Persians  upon  commerce 
and  trade. 

"  'I  won't  take  any  of  your  money  as  a  gift,  Mr. 


The  Man  Higher  Up  155 

Bassett,'  says  I  to  him,  'but  if  you'll  pay  my  expenses 
as  a  traveling  companion  until  we  get  out  of  the 
danger  zone  of  the  immoral  deficit  you  have  caused  in 
ihis  town's  finances  to-night,  I'll  be  obliged.' 

"Bill  Bassett  agreed  to  that,  and  we  hiked  west- 
ward as  soon  as  we  could  catch  a  safe  train. 

"When  we  got  to  a  town  in  Arizona  called  Los 
Perros  I  suggested  that  we  once  more  try  our  luck 
on  terra-cotta.  That  was  the  home  of  Montague  Sil- 
ver, my  old  instructor,  now  retired  from  business.  •  I 
knew  Monty  would  stake  me  to  web  money  if  I  could 
show  him  a  fly  buzzing  'round  in  the  locality.  Bill 
Bassett  said  all  towns  looked  alike  to  him  as  he 
worked  mainly  in  the  dark.  So  we  got  off  the  train 
in  Los  Perros,  a  fine  little  town  in  the  silver  region. 

"I  had  an  elegant  little  sure  thing  in  the  way  of 
a  commercial  slungshot  that  I  intended  to  hit  Bassett 
behind  the  ear  with.  I  wasn't  going  to  take  his 
money  while  he  was  asleep,  but  I  was  going  to  leave 
him  with  a  lottery  ticket  that  would  represent  in 
experience  to  him  $4,755  —  I  think  that  was  the 
amount  he  had  when  we  got  off  the  train.  But  the 
first  time  I  hinted  to  him  about  an  investment,  he 
turns  on  me  and  disencumbers  himself  of  the  follow- 
ing terms  and  expressions. 

"  'Brother  Peters,'  says  he,  'it  ain't  a  bad  idea  to 


156  The  Gentle  Grafter 

go  into  an  enterprise  of  some  kind,  as  you  suggest. 
I  think  I  will.  But  if  I  do  it  will  be  such  a  cold  prop- 
osition that  nobody  but  Robert  E.  Peary  and  Charlie 
Fairbanks  will  be  able  to  sit  on  the  board  of  direc- 
tors.' 

"'I  thought  you  might  want  to  turn  your  money 
over,'  says  I. 

"  'I  do,'  says  he,  'frequently.  I  can't  sleep  on  one 
side  all  night.  I'll  tell  you,  Brother  Peters,'  says  he, 
'I'm  going  to  start  a  poker  room.  I  don't  seem  to 
care  for  the  humdrum  in  swindling,  such  as  peddling 
egg-beaters  and  working  off  breakfast  food  on  Bar- 
num  and  Bailey  for  sawdust  to  strew  in  their  circus 
rings.  But  the  gambling  business,'  says  he,  'from 
the  profitable  side  of  the  table  is  a  good  compromise 
between  swiping  silver  spoons  and  selling  penwipers 
at  a  Waldorf-Astoria   charity  bazar.' 

"  'Then,'  says  I,  'Mr.  Bassett,  you  don't  care  to 
talk  over  my  little  business  proposition?' 

"  'Why,'  says  he,  'do  you  know,  you  can't  get  a 
Pasteur  institute  to  start  up  within  fifty  miles  of 
where  I  live.     I  bite  so  seldom.' 

"So,  Bassett  rents  a  room  over  a  saloon  and  looks 
around  for  some  furniture  and  chromos.  The  same 
night  I  went  to  Monty  Silver's  house,  and  he  let  me 
have  $200  on  my  prospects.     Then  I  went  to  the 


The  Man  Higher  Up  157 

only  store  in  Los  Perros  that  sold  playing  cards  and 
bought  every  deck  in  the  house.  The  next  morning 
when  the  store  opened  I  was  there  bringing  all  the 
cards  back  with  me.  I  said  that  my  partner  that  was 
going  to  back  me  in  the  game  had  changed  his  mind ; 
and  I  wanted  to  sell  the  cards  back  again.  The 
storekeeper  took  'em  at  half  price. 

"Yes,  I  was  seventy-five  dollars  loser  up  to  that 
time.  But  while  I  had  the  cards  that  night  I  marked 
every  one  in  every  deck.  That  was  labor.  And  then 
trade  and  commerce  had  their  innings,  and  the  bread 
I  had  cast  upon  the  waters  began  to  come  back  in 
the  form  of  cottage  pudding  with  wine  sauce. 

"Of  course  I  was  among  the  first  to  buy  chips  at 
Bill  Bassett's  game.  He  had  bought  the  only  cards 
there  was  to  be  had  in  town ;  and  I  knew  the  back  of 
every  one  of  them  better  than  I  know  the  back  of  my 
head  when  the  barber  shows  me  my  haircut  in  the 
two  mirrors. 

"When  the  game  closed  I  had  the  five  thousand 
and  a  few  odd  dollars,  and  all  Bill  Bassett  had  was 
the  wanderlust  and  a  black  cat  he  had  bought  for  a 
mascot.     Bill  shook  hands  with  me  when  I  left. 

"  'Brother  Peters,'  says  he,  'I  have  no  business 
being  in  business.  I  was  preordained  to  labor. 
When  a  No.  1  burglar  tries  to  make  a  James  out  of 


158  The  Gentle  Grafter 

his  jimmy  he  perpetrates  an  improfundity.  You 
have  a  well-oiled  and  efficacious  system  of  luck  at 
cards,'  says  he.  'Peace  go  with  you.'  And  I  never 
afterward  sees  Bill  Basset  again." 

"Well,  Jeff,"  said  I,  when  the  Autolycan  adven- 
turer seemed  to  have  divulged  the  gist  of  his  tale,  "I 
hope  you  took  care  of  the  money.  That  would  be  a 
respecta  —  that  is  a  considerable  working  capital  if 
you  should  choose  some  day  to  settle  down  to  some 
sort  of  regular  business." 

"Me?"  said  Jeff,  virtuously.  "You  can  bet  I've 
taken  care  of  that  five  thousand." 

He  tapped  his  coat  over  the  region  of  his  chest 
exultantly. 

"Gold  mining  stock,"  he  explained,  "every  cent  of 
it.  Shares  par  value  one  dollar.  Bound  to  go  up 
500  per  cent,  within  a  year.  Non-assessable.  The 
Blue  Gopher  Mine.  Just  discovered  a  month  ago. 
Better  get  in  yourself  if  you've  any  spare  dollars  on 
hand." 

"Sometimes,"  said  I,  "these  mines  are  not — " 

"Oh,  this  one's  solid  as  an  old  goose,"  said  Jeff. 
"Fifty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  ore  in  sight,  and 
10  per  cent,  monthly  earnings  guaranteed." 


The  Man  Higher  Up  159 

He  drew  a  long  envelope  from  his  pocket  and  cast 
it  on  the  table. 

"Always  carry  it  with  me,"  said  he.  "So  the 
burglar  can't  corrupt  or  the  capitalist  break  in  and 
water  it." 

"I  looked  at  the  beautifully  engraved  certificate 
of   stock. 

"In  Colorado,  I  see,"  said  I.  "And,  by  the  way, 
Jeff,  what  was  the  name  of  the  little  man  who  went 
to  Denver  —  the  one  you  and  Bill  met  at  the  station?" 

"Alfred  E.  Ricks,"  said  Jeff,  "was  the  toad's  des- 
ignation." 

"I  see,"  said  I,  "the  president  of  this  mining  com- 
pany signs  himself  A.  L.  Fredericks.  I  was  wonder- 
ing-" 

"Let  me  se^  that  jtock,"  said  Jeff  quickly,  almost 
snatching  it  from  me. 

To  mitigate,  even  though  slightly,  the  embarrass- 
ment I  summoned  the  waiter  and  ordered  another  bot- 
tle of  the  Barbera.  I  thought  it  was  the  least  I 
could  do. 


A  TEMPERED  WIND 

1  HE  first  time  my  optical  nerves  was  disturbed  by 
the  sight  of  Buckingham  Skinner  was  in  Kansas  City. 
I  was  standing  on  a  corner  when  I  see  Buck  stick  his 
straw-colored  head  out  of  a  third-story  window  of  a 
business  block  and  holler,  "Whoa,  there !  Whoa !" 
like  you  would  in  endeavoring  to  assuage  a  team  of 
runaway  mules. 

I  looked  around ;  but  all  the  animals  I  see  in  sight 
is  a  policeman,  having  his  shoes  shined,  and  a  couple 
of  delivery  wagons  hitched  to  posts.  Then  in  a  min- 
ute downstairs  tumbles  this  Buckingham  Skinner,  and 
runs  to  the  corner,  and  stands  and  gazes  down  the 
other  street  at  the  imaginary  dust  kicked  up  by  the 
fabulous  hoofs  of  the  fictitious  team  of  chimerical 
quadrupeds.  And  then  B.  Skinner  goes  back  up  to 
the  third-story  room  again,  and  I  see  that  the  letter- 
ing on  the  window  is  "The  Farmers'  Friend  Loan 
Company." 

By  and  by  Straw-top  comes  down  again,  and  I 

crossed  the  street  to  meet  him,  for  I  had  my  ideas. 

Yes,  sir,  when  I  got  close  I  could  see  where  he  over- 

160 


A  Tempered  Wind  161 

done  it.  He  was  Reub  all  right  as  far  as  his  blue 
jeans  and  cowhide  boots  went,  but  he  had  a  matinee 
actor's  hands,  and  the  rye  straw  stuck  over  his  ear 
looked  like  it  belonged  to  the  property  man  of  the 
Old  Homestead  Co.  Curiosity  to  know  what  his 
graft  was  got  the  best  of  me. 

"Was  that  your  team  broke  away  and  run  just 
now?"  I  asks  him,  polite.  "I  tried  to  stop  'em," 
says  I,  "but  I  couldn't.  I  guess  they're  half  way 
back  to   the  farm  by  now." 

"Gosh  blame  them  darned  mules,"  says  Straw-top, 
in  a  voice  so  good  that  I  nearly  apologized ;  "they're 
a'lus  bustin'  loose."  And  then  he  looks  at  me  close, 
and  then  he  takes  off  his  hayseed  hat,  and  says,  in  a 
different  voice :  "I'd  like  to  shake  hands  with  Parley- 
voo Pickens,  the  greatest  street  man  in  the  West,  bar- 
ring only  Montague  Silver,  which  }rou  can  no  more 
than  allow." 

I  let  him  shake  hands  with  me. 

"I  learned  under  Silver,"  I  said ;  "I  don't  begrudge 
him  the  lead.  But  what's  your  graft,  son?  I  admit 
that  the  phantom  flight  of  the  non-existing  animals 
at  which  you  remarked  'Whoa  !'  has  puzzled  me  some- 
what.    How  do  you  win  out  on  the  trick?' 

Buckingham  Skinner  blushed. 

"Pocket  money,"  says  he;  "that's  all.     I  am  tem- 


162  The  Gentle  Grafter 

porarily  unfinanced.  This  little  coup  de  rye  straw 
is  good  for  forty  dollars  in  a  town  of  this  size.  How 
do  I  work  it?  Why,  I  involve  myself,  as  you  per- 
ceive, in  the  loathsome  apparel  of  the  rural  dub. 
Thus  embalmed  I  am  Jonas  Stubblefield  —  a  name 
impossible  to  improve  upon.  I  repair  noisily  to  the 
office  of  some  loan  company  conveniently  located  in 
the  third-floor,  front.  There  I  lay  my  hat  and  yarn 
gloves  on  the  floor  and  ask  to  mortgage  my  farm  for 
$2,000  to  pay  for  my  sister's  musical  education  in 
Europe.  Loans  like  that  always  suit  the  loan  com- 
panies. It's  ten  to  one  that  when  the  note  falls  due 
the  foreclosure  will  be  leading  the  semiquavers  by  a 
couple  of  lengths. 

"Well,  sir,  I  reach  in  my  pocket  for  the  abstract 
of  title ;  but  I  suddenly  hear  my  team  running  away. 
I  run  to  the  window  and  emit  the  word  —  or  excla- 
mation, which-ever  it  may  be  —  viz,  'Whoa  !'  Then 
I  rush  down-stairs  and  down  the  street,  returning  in 
a  few  minutes.  'Dang  them  mules,'  I  says ;  'they 
done  run  away  and  busted  the  doubletree  and  two 
traces.  Now  I  got  to  hoof  it  home,  for  I  never 
brought  no  money  along.  Reckon  we'll  talk  about 
that  loan  some  other  time,  gen'lemen.' 

"Then  I  spreads  out  my  tarpaulin,  like  the  Israel- 
ites, and  waits  for  the  manna  to  drop. 


ti  (1 


A  Tempered  Wind  163 

'Why,  no,  Mr.  Stubblefield,'  says  the  lobster-col- 
ored party  in  the  specs  and  dotted  pique  vest ;  'oblige 
us  by  accepting  this  ten-dollar  bill  until  to-morrow. 
Get  your  harness  repaired  and  call  in  at  ten.  We'll 
be  pleased  to  accommodate  you  in  the  matter  of  this 
loan.' 

"It's  a  slight  thing,"  says  Buckingham  Skinner, 
modest,  "'but,  as  I  said,  only  for  temporary  loose 
change." 

"It's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  says  I,  in  respect 
for  his  mortification ;  "in  case  of  an  emergency.  Of 
course,  it's  small  compared  to  organizing  a  trust  or 
bridge  whist,  but  even  the  Chicago  University  had  to 
be  started  in  a  small  way." 

" What  s  your  graft  these  days?"  Buckingham 
Skinner  asks  me. 

"The  legitimate,"  says  I.  "I'm  handling  rhine- 
stones  and  Dr.  Oleum  Sinapi's  Electric  Headache 
Battery  and  the  Swiss  Warbler's  Bird  Call,  a  small 
lot  of  the  new  queer  ones  and  twos,  and  the  Bonanza 
Budget,  consisting  of  a  rolled-gold  wedding  and  en- 
gagement ring,  six  Egyptian  lily  bulbs,  a  combination 
pickle  fork  and  nail-clipper,  and  fifty  engraved  vis- 
iting cards  —  no  two  names  alike  —  all  for  the  sum 
of  38  coats." 

"Two  months  ago,"  says  Buckingham  Skinner,  "I 


164  The  Gentle  Grafter 

was  doing  well  down  in  Texas  with  a  patent  instan- 
taneous fire  kindler,  made  of  compressed  wood  ashes 
and  benzine.  I  sold  loads  of  'em  in  towns  where  they 
like  to  burn  niggers  quick,  without  having  to  ask 
somebody  for  a  light.  And  just  when  1  was  doing 
the  best  they  strikes  oil  down  there  and  puts  me  out 
of  business.  'Your  machine's  too  slow,  now,  pard- 
ner,'  they  tells  me.  'We  can  have  a  coon  in  hell  with 
this  here  petroleum  before  your  old  flint-and-tinder 
truck  can  get  him  warm  enough  to  perfess  religion.' 
And  so  I  gives  up  the  kindler  and  drifts  up  here  to 
K.  C.  This  little  curtain-raiser  you  seen  me  doing, 
Mr.  Pickens,  with  the  simulated  farm  and  the  hypo- 
thetical team,  ain't  in  my  line  at  all,  and  I'm  ashamed 
you   found   me   working  it." 

"No  man,"  says  I,  kindly,  "need  to  be  ashamed 
of  putting  the  skibunk  on  a  loan  corporation  for  even 
so  small  a  sum  as  ten  dollars,  when  he  is  financially 
abashed.  Still,  it  wasn't  quite  the  proper  thing. 
It's  too  much  like  borrowing  money  without  paying  it 
back." 

I  liked  Buckingham  Skinner  from  the  start,  for  as 
good  a  man  as  ever  stood  over  the  axles  and  breathed 
gasoline  smoke.  And  pretty  soon  we  gets  thick,  and 
I  let  him  in  on  a  scheme  I'd  had  in  mind  for  some 
time,  and  offers  to  go  partners. 


A  Tempered  Wind  165 

"Anything,"  says  Buck,  "that  is  not  actually  dis- 
honest will  find  me  willing  and  ready.  Let  us  per- 
forate into  the  inwardness  of  your  proposition.  I 
feel  degraded  when  I  am  forced  to  wear  property 
straw  in  my  hair  and  assume  a  bucolic  air  for  the 
small  sum  of  ten  dollars.  Actually,  Mr.  Pickens,  it 
makes  me  feel  like  the  Ophelia  of  the  Great  Occidental 
All-Star  One-Night  Consolidated  Theatrical  Aggre- 
gation." 

This  scheme  of  mine  was  one  that  suited  my  pro- 
clivities. By  nature  I  am  some  sentimental,  and  have 
always  felt  gentle  toward  the  mollifying  elements  of 
existence.  I  am  disposed  to  be  lenient  with  the  arts 
and  sciences ;  and  I  find  time  to  instigate  a  cordiality 
for  the  more  human  works  of  nature,  such  as  romance 
and  the  atmosphere  and  grass  and  poetry  and  the 
Seasons.  I  never  skin  a  sucker  without  admiring  the 
prismatic  beauty  of  his  scales.  I  never  sell  a  little 
aui-iferous  trifle  to  the  man  with  the  hoe  without  no- 
ticing the  beautiful  harmony  there  is  between  gold 
and  green.  And  that's  why  I  liked  this  scheme ;  it 
was  so  full  of  outdoor  air  and  landscapes  and  easy 
money. 

We  had  to  have  a  young  lady  assistant  to  help  us 
work  this  graft;  and  I  asked  Buck  if  he  knew  of  one 
to  fill  the  bill. 


166  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"One,"  says  I,  "that  is  cool  and  wise  and  strictly 
business  from  her  pompadour  to  her  Oxfords.  No 
ex-toe-dancL'i's  or  gum-chewers  or  crayon  portrait 
canvassers  for  this." 

Buck  claimed  he  knew  a  suitable  feminine  and  he 
takes  me  around  to  see  Miss  Sarah  Malloy.  The 
minute  I  see  her  I  am  pleased.  She  looked  to  be  the 
goods  as  ordered.  No  sign  of  the  three  p's  about  her 
—  no  peroxide,  patchouli,  nor  peau  de  soie;  about 
twenty-two,  brown  hair,  pleasant  ways  —  the  kind 
of  a  lady  for  the  place. 

"A  description  of  the  sandbag,  if  you  please,"  she 
begins. 

"Why,  ma'am,"  says  I,  "this  graft  of  ours  is  so 
nice  and  refined  and  romantic,  it  would  make  the  bal- 
cony scene  in  'Romeo  and  Juliet'  look  like  second- 
story  work." 

We  talked  it  over,  and  Miss  Malloy  agreed  to  come 
in  as  a  business  partner.  She  said  she  was  glad  to 
get  a  chance  to  give  up  her  place  as  stenographer  and 
secretary  to  a  suburban  lot  company,  and  go  into 
something  respectable. 

This  is  the  way  we  worked  our  scheme.  First,  I 
figured  it  out  by  a  kind  of  a  proverb.  The  best 
grafts  in  the  world  are  built  up  on  copy-book  maxims 
and  psalms  and  proverbs  and  Esau's  fables.     They 


A  Tempered  Wind  167 

seem  to  kind  of  hit  off  human  nature.  Our  peaceful 
little  swindle  was  constructed  on  the  old  saying: 
"The  whole  push  loves  a  lover." 

One  evening  Buck  and  Miss  Malloy  drives  up  like 


I      jr.x.t         ^ 

a. 


i 


"She  is  a  peach  and  of  the  cling  variety." 

blazes  in  a  buggy  to  a  farmer's  door.  She  is  pale 
but  affectionate,  clinging  to  his  arm  —  always  cling- 
ing to  his  arm.     Any  one  can  see  that  she  is  a  peach 


168  The  Gentle  Grafter 

and  of  the  cling  variety.  They  claim  they  are  elop- 
ing for  to  be  married  on  account  of  cruel  parents. 
They  ask  where  they  can  find  a  preacher.  Farmer 
says,  "B'gum  there  ain't  any  preacher  nigher  than 
Reverend  Abels,  four  miles  over  on  Caney  Creek." 
Farmeress  wipes  her  hand  on  her  apron  and  rubbers 
through  her  specs. 

Then,  lo  and  look  ye  !  Up  the  road  from  the  other 
way  j°gs  Parleyvoo  Pickens  in  a  gig,  dressed  in 
black,  white  necktie,  long  face,  sniffing  his  nose,  emit- 
ting a  spurious  kind  of  noise  resembling  the  long 
meter  doxology. 

"B'jinks!"  says  farmer,  "if  thar  ain't  a  preacher 
now !" 

It  transpires  that  I  am  Rev.  Abijah  Green,  travel- 
ing over  to  Little  Bethel  school-house  for  to  preach 
next  Sunday. 

The  young  folks  will  have  it  they  must  be  married, 
for  pa  is  pursuing  them  with  the  plow  mules  and  the 
buckboard.  So  the  Reverend  Green,  after  hesita- 
tion, marries  'em  in  farmer's  parlor.  And  farmer 
grins,  and  has  in  cider,  and  says  "B'gum !"  and 
farmeress  sniffles  a  bit  and  pats  the  bride  on  the 
shoulder.  And  Parleyvoo  Pickens,  the  wrong  rever- 
end, writes  out  a  marriage  certificate,  and  farmer  and 
farmeress  sign  it  as  witnesses.     And  the  parties  of 


A  Tempered  Wind 


109 


5^^=-  — 


V 


=0 


«  ■> 


<a 


o 
6Q 


170  The  Gentle  Grafter 

the  first,  second,  and  third  part  gets  in  their  vehicles 
and  rides  away.  Oh,  that  was  an  idyllic  graft! 
True  love  and  the  lowing  kine  and  the  sun  shining  on 
the  red  barns  —  it  certainly  had  all  other  impostures 
I  know  about  beat  to  a  batter. 

I  suppose  I  happened  along  in  time  to  marry  Buck 
and  Miss  Malloy  at  about  twenty  farm-houses.  I 
hated  to  think  how  the  romance  was  going  to  fade 
later  on  when  all  them  marriage  certificates  turned  up 
in  banks  where  we'd  discounted  'em,  and  the  farmers 
had  to  pay  them  notes  of  hand  they'd  signed,  running 
from  $300  to  $500. 

On  the  15th  day  of  May  us  three  divided  about 
$6,000.  Miss  Malloy  nearly  cried  with  joy.  You 
don't  often  see  a  tenderhearted  girl  or  one  that  w<\l> 
so  bent  on  doing  right. 

"Boys,"  says  she,  dabbing  her  eyes  with  a  little 
handkerchief,  "this  stake  comes  in  handier  than  a 
powder  rag  at  a  fat  men's  ball.  It  gives  me  a  chance 
to  reform.  I  was  trying  to  get  out  of  the  real 
estate  business  when  you  fellows  came  along.  But  if 
you  hadn't  taken  me  in  on  this  neat  little  proposi- 
tion for  removing  the  cuticle  of  the  rutabaga  propa- 
gators I'm  afraid  I'd  have  got  into  something  worse. 
I  was  about  to  accept  a  place  in  one  of  these  Women's 
Auxiliary  Bazars,  where  they  build  a  parsonage  by 


A  Tempered  Wind 


171 


o 
o 
o 

«\ 

<© 

— 

O 

*■« 

So 

Co 

SS 


52 


172  The  Gentle  Grafter 

selling  a  spoonful  of  chicken  salad  and  a  cream-puff 
for  seventy-five  cents  and  calling  it  a  Business  Men's 
Lunch. 

"Now  I  can  go  into  a  square,  honest  business,  and 
give  all  them  queer  jobs  the  shake.  I'm  going  to 
Cincinnati  and  start  a  palm  reading  and  clairvoyant 
joint.  As  Madame  Saramaloi,  the  Egyptian  Sorcer- 
ess, I  shall  give  everybody  a  dollar's  worth  of  good 
honest  prognostication.  Good-by,  boys.  Take  my 
advice  and  go  into  some  decent  fake.  Get  friendly 
with  the  police  and  newspapers  and  you'll  be  all 
right." 

So  then  we  all  shook  hands,  and  Miss  Malloy  left 
us.  Me  and  Buck  also  rose  up  and  sauntered  off  a 
few  hundred  miles ;  for  we  didn't  care  to  be  around 
when  them  marriage  certificates  fell  due. 

With  about  $4,000  between  us  we  hit  that  bump- 
tious little  town  off  the  New  Jersey  coast  they  call 
New  York. 

If  there  ever  was  an  aviary  overstocked  with  jays 
it  is  that  Yaptown-on-the-Hudson.  Cosmopolitan 
they  call  it.  You  bet.  So's  a  piece  of  fly-paper. 
You  listen  close  when  they're  buzzing  and  trying  t» 
pull  their  feet  out  of  the  sticky  stuff.  '.'Little  old 
New  York's  good  enough  for  us" —  that's  what  they 
sing. 


A  Tempered  Wind  173 

There's  enough  Reubs  walk  down  Broadway  in  one 
hour  to  buy  up  a  week's  output  of  the  factory  in 
Augusta,  Maine,  that  makes  Knaughty  Knovelties 
and  the  little  Phine  Phun  oroide  gold  finger  ring  that 
sticks  a  needle  in  your  friend's  hand. 

You'd  think  New  York  people  was  all  wise ;  but  no. 
They  don't  get  a  chance  to  learn.  Everything's  too 
compressed.  Even  the  hayseeds  are  baled  hayseeds. 
But  what  else  can  you  expect  from  a  town  that's  shut 
off  from  the  world  by  the  ocean  on  one  side  and  New 
Jersey  on  the  other? 

It's  no  place  for  an  honest  grafter  with  a  small 
capital.  There's  too  big  a  protective  tariff  on  bunco. 
Even  when  Giovanni  sells  a  quart  of  warm  worms  and 
chestnut  hulls  he  has  to  hand  out  a  pint  to  an  insec- 
tivorous cop.  And  the  hotel  man  charges  double  for 
everything  in  the  bill  that  he  sends  by  the  patrol 
wagon  to  the  altar  where  the  duke  is  about  to  marry 
the  heiress. 

But  old  Badville-near-Coney  is  the  ideal  burg  for 
a  refined  piece  of  piracy  if  you  can  pay  the  bunco 
duty.  Imported  grafts  come  pretty  high.  The 
custom-house  officers  that  look  after  it  carry  clubs, 
and  it's  hard  to  smuggle  in  even  a  bib-and-tucker 
swindle  to  work  Brooklyn  with  unless  you  can  pay 
the  toll.     But  now,  me  and  Buck,  having  capital, 


174  The  Gentle  Grafter 

descends  upon  New  York  to  try  and  trade  the  metro- 
politan backwoodsmen  a  few  glass  beads  for  real 
estate  just  as  the  Vans  did  a  hundred  or  two  years 
ago. 

At  an  East  Side  hotel  we  gets  acquainted  with 
Romulus  G.  Atterbury,  a  man  with  the  finest  head 
for  financial  operations  I  ever  saw.  It  was  all  bald 
and  glossy  except  for  gray  side  whiskers.  Seeing 
that  head  behind  an  office  railing,  and  you'd  deposit 
a  million  with  it  without  a  receipt.  This  Atterbury 
was  well  dressed,  though  he  ate  seldom;  and  the 
synopsis  of  his  talk  would  make  the  conversation  of  a 
siren  sound  like  a  cab  driver's  kick.  He  said  he  used 
to  be  a  member  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  but  some  of 
the  big  capitalists  got  jealous  and  formed  a  ring  that 
forced  him  to  sell  his  seat. 

Atterbury  got  to  liking  me  and  Buck  and  he  be- 
gun to  throw  on  the  canvas  for  us  some  of  the 
schemes  that  had  caused  his  hair  to  evacuate.  He 
had  one  scheme  for  starting  a  National  Bank  on  $45 
that  made  the  Mississippi  Bubble  look  as  solid  as  a 
glass  marble.  He  talked  this  to  us  for  three  days, 
and  when  his  throat  was  good  and  sore  we  told  him 
about  the  roll  we  had.  Atterbury  borrowed  a  quar- 
ter from  us  and  went  out  and  got  a  box  of  throat 
lozenges  and  started  all  over  again.     This  time  he 


A  Tempered  Wind  175 

talked  bigger  things,  and  he  got  us  to  see  'em  as  he 
did.  The  scheme  he  laid  out  looked  like  a  sure  win- 
ner, and  he  talked  me  and  Buck  into  putting  our 
capital  against  his  burnished  dome  of  thought.  It 
looked  all  right  for  a  kid-gloved  graft.  It  seemed  to 
be  just  about  an  inch  and  a  half  outside  of  the  reach 
of  the  police,  and  as  money-making  as  a  mint.  It 
was  just  what  me  and  Buck  wanted  —  a  regular 
business  at  a  permanent  stand,  with  an  open  air 
spieling  with  tonsilitis  on  the  street  corners  every 
evening. 

So,  in  six  weeks  you  see  a  handsome  furnished  set 
of  offices  down  in  the  Wall  Street  neighborhood,  with 
"The  Golconda  Gold  Bond  and  Investment  Com- 
pany" in  gilt  letters  on  the  door.  And  you  see  in 
his  private  room,  with  the  door  open,  the  secretary 
and  treasurer,  Mr.  Buckingham  Skinner,  costumed 
like  the  lilies  of  the  conservatory,  with  his  high  silk 
hat  close  to  his  hand.  Nobody  yet  ever  saw  Buck 
outside  of  an  instantaneous  reach  for  his  hat. 

And  you  might  perceive  the  president  and  general 
manager,  Mr.  R.  G.  Atterbury,  with  his  priceless 
polished  poll,  busy  in  the  main  office  room  dictating 
letters  to  a  shorthand  countess,  who  has  got  pomp 
and  a  pompadour  that  is  no  less  than  a  guarantee  to 
investors. 


176  The  Gentle  Grafter 

There  is  a  bookkeeper  and  an  assistant,  and  a  gen- 
eral atmosphere  of  varnish  and  culpability. 

A.t  another  desk  the  eye  is  relieved  by  the  sight  of 


>'ibzlMU>: 


"  Busy  in  the  main  office  room  dictating  letters  to 
shorthand  countess." 

an  ordinary  man,  attired  with  unscrupulous  plains 
ness,  sitting  with  his  feet  up,  eating  apples,  with  his 
obnoxious  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head.     That  maj 


A  Tempered  Wind  177 

is  no  other  than  Colonel  Tecumseh  (once  "Parley- 
voo") Pickens,  the  vice-president  of  the  company. 

"No  recherche  rags  for  me,"  I  says  to  Atterbury, 
when  we  was  organizing  the  stage  properties  of  the 
robbery.  "I'm  a  plain  man,"  says  I,  "and  I  do  not 
use  pajamas,  French,  or  military  hair-brushes.  Cast 
me  for  the  role  of  the  rhinestone-in-the-rough  or  I 
don't  go  on  exhibition.  If  you  can  use  me  in  my 
natural,  though  displeasing  form,  do  so." 

"Dress  you  up?"  says  Atterbury;  "I  should  say 
not !  Just  as  you  are  you're  worth  more  to  the  busi- 
ness than  a  whole  roomful  of  the  things  they  pin 
chrysanthemums  on.  You're  to  play  the  part  of  the 
solid  but  disheveled  capitalist  from  the  Far  West. 
You  despise  the  conventions.  You've  got  so  many 
stocks  you  can  afford  to  shake  socks.  Conservative, 
homely,  rough,  shrewd,  saving  —  that's  your  pose. 
It's  a  winner  in  New  York.  Keep  your  feet  on  the 
desk  and  eat  apples.  Whenever  anybody  comes  in 
eat  an  apple.  Let  'em  see  you  stuff  the  peelings  in  a 
drawer  of  your  desk.  Look  as  economical  and  rich 
and  rugged  as  you  can." 

I  followed  out  Atterbury's  instructions.  I  played 
the  Rocky  Mountain  capitalist  without  ruching  or 
frills.  The  way  I  deposited  apple  peelings  to  my 
credit  in  a  drawer  when  any  customers  came  in  made 


178 


The  Gentle  Grafter 


so 
8 


S 

o 


8 

to 

S9 
to 

6. 

a* 

to 


<3 


A  Tempered  Wind  179 

Hetty  Green  look  like  a  spendthrift.  I  could  hear 
Atterbury  saying  to  victims,  as  he  smiled  at  me,  in- 
dulgent and  venerating,  "That's  our  vice-president, 
Colonel  Pickens  .  .  .  fortune  in  Western  invest- 
ments .  .  .  delightfully  plain  manners,  but  .  .  . 
could  sign  his  check  for  half  a  million  .  .  .  simple  as 
a  child  .  .  ,  wonderful  head  .  .  .  conservative  and 
careful  almost  to  a  fault." 

Atterbury  managed  the  business.  Me  and  Buck 
never  quite  understood  all  of  it,  though  he  explained 
it  to  us  in  full.  It  seems  the  company  was  a  kind 
of  cooperative  one,  and  everybody  that  bought  stock 
shared  in  the  profits.  First,  we  officers  bought  up  a 
controlling  interest  —  we  had  to  have  that  —  of  the 
shares  at  50  cents  a  hundred  —  just  what  the  printer 
charged  us  —  and  the  rest  went  to  the  public  at  a 
dollar  each.  The  company  guaranteed  the  stock- 
holders a  profit  of  ten  per  cent,  each  month,  payable 
on  the  last  day  thereof. 

When  any  stockholder  had  paid  in  as  much  as 
$100,  the  company  issued  him  a  Gold  Bond  and  he 
became  a  bondholder.  I  asked  Atterbury  one  day 
what  benefits  and  appurtenances  these  Gold  Bonds 
was  to  an  investor  more  so  than  the  immunities  and 
privileges  enjoyed  by  the  common  sucker  who  only 
owned  stock.     Atterbury  picked  up  one  of  them  Gold 


180  The  Gentle  Grafter 

Bonds,  all  gilt  and  lettered  up  with  flourishes  and  a 
big  red  seal  tied  with  a  blue  ribbon  in  a  bowknot,  and 
he  looked  at  me  like  his  feelings  was  hurt. 

"My  dear  Colonel  Pickens,"  says  he,  "you  have 
no  soul  for  Art.  Think  of  a  thousand  homes  made 
happy  by  possessing  one  of  these  beautiful  gems  of 
the  lithographer's  skill !  Think  of  the  j  oy  in  the 
household  where  one  of  these  Gold  Bonds  hangs  by  a 
pink  cord  to  the  what-not,  or  is  chewed  by  the  baby, 
caroling  gleefully  upon  the  floor!  Ah,  I  see  your 
eye  growing  moist,  Colonel  —  I  have  touched  you, 
have  I  not  ?" 

"You  have  not,"  says  I,  "for  I've  been  watching 
you.  The  moisture  you  see  is  apple  juice.  You 
can't  expect  one  man  to  act  as  a  human  cider-press 
and  an  art  connoisseur  too." 

Atterbury  attended  to  the  details  of  the  concern. 
As  I  understand  it,  they  was  simple.  The  investors 
in  stock  paid  in  their  money,  and  —  well,  I  guess 
that's  all  they  had  to  do.  The  compan}7  received  it, 
and  —  I  don't  call  to  mind  anything  else.  Me  and 
Buck  knew  more  about  selling  corn  salve  than  we  did 
about  Wall  Street,  but  even  we  could  see  how  the 
Golconda  Gold  Bond  Investment  Company  was  mak- 
ing money.  You  take  in  money  and  pay  back  ten 
per  cent,  of  it ;  it's  plain  enough  that  you  make  a 


A  Tempered  Wind  181 

clean,  legitimate  profit  of  90  per  cent.,  less  expenses, 
as  long  as  the  fish  bite. 

Atterbury  wanted  to  be  president  and  treasurer 
too,  but  Buck  winks  an  eye  at  him  and  says :  "You 
was  to  furnish  the  brains.  Do  }^ou  call  it  good 
brain  work  when  you  propose  to  take  in  money  at  the 
door,  too?  Think  again.  I  hereby  nominate  my- 
self treasurer  ad  valorem,  sine  die,  and  by  acclama- 
tion. I  chip  in  that  much  brain  work  free.  Me  and 
Pickens,  we  furnished  the  capital,  and  we'll  handle 
the  unearned  increment  as  it  incremates." 

It  costs  us  $500  for  office  rent  and  first  payment  on 
furniture;  $1,500  more  went  for  printing  and  ad- 
vertising. Atterbury  knew  his  business.  "Three 
months  to  a  minute  we'll  last,"  says  he.  "A  day 
longer  than  that  and  we'll  have  to  either  go  under  or 
go  under  an  alias.  By  that  time  we  ought  to  clean 
up  $60,000.  And  then  a  money  belt  and  a  lower 
berth  for  me,  and  the  yellow  journals  and  the  furni- 
ture men  can  pick  the  bones." 

Our  ads.  done  the  work.  "Country  weeklies  and 
Washington  hand-press  dailies  of  course,"  says  I 
when  we  was  ready  to  make  contracts. 

"Man,"  says  Atterbury,  "as  its  advertising  man- 
ager you  would  cause  a  Limburger  cheese  factory  to 
remain    undiscovered    during    a    hot    summer.     The 


182  The  Gentle  Grafter 

game  we're  after  is  right  here  in  New  York  and 
Brooklyn  and  the  Harlem  reading-rooms.  They're 
the  people  that  the  street-car  fenders  and  the  An- 
swers to  Correspondents  columns  and  the  pickpocket 
notices  are  made  for.  We  want  our  ads.  in  the  big- 
gest city  dailies,  top  of  column,  next  to  editorials  on 
radium    and    pictures    of    the    girl    doing    health 


exercises." 


Pretty  soon  the  money  begins  to  roll  in.  Buck 
didn't  have  to  pretend  to  be  busy ;  his  desk  was  piled 
high  up  with  money  orders  and  checks  and  green- 
backs. People  began  to  drop  in  the  office  and  buy 
stock  every  day. 

Most  of  the  shares  went  in  small  amounts  —  $10 
and  $25  and  $50,  and  a  good  many  $2  and  $3  lots. 
And  the  bald  and  inviolate  cranium  of  President  At- 
terbury  shines  with  enthusiasm  and  demerit,  while 
Colonel  Tecumseh  Pickens,  the  rude  but  reputable 
Croesus  of  the  West,  consumes  so  many  apples  that 
the  peelings  hang  to  the  floor  from  the  mahogany 
garbage  chest  that  he  calls  his  desk. 

Just  as  Attcrbury  said,  we  ran  along  about  three 
months  without  being  troubled.  Buck  cashed  the 
paper  as  fast  as  it  came  in  and  kept  the  money  in  a 
safe  deposit  vault  a  block  or  so  away.  Buck  never 
thought  much  of  banks  for  such  purposes.     We  paid 


A  Tempered  Wind  183 

the  interest  regular  on  the  stock  we'd  sold,  so  there 
was  nothing  for  anybody  to  squeal  about.  We  had 
nearly  $50,000  on  hand  and  all  three  of  us  had  been 
living  as  high  as  prize  fighters  out  of  training. 

One  morning,  as  me  and  Buck  sauntered  into  the 
office,  fat  and  flippant,  from  our  noon  grub,  we  met 
an  easy-looking  fellow,  with  a  bright  eye  and  a  pipe 
in  his  mouth,  coming  out.  We  found  Atterbury 
looking  like  he'd  been  caught  a  mile  from  home  in  a 
wet  shower. 

"Know  that  man?"  he  asked  us. 

We  said  we  didn't. 

"I  don't  either,"  says  Atterbury,  wiping  off  his 
head ;  "but  I'll  bet  enough  Gold  Bonds  to  paper  a 
cell  in  the  Tombs  that  he's  a  newspaper  reporter." 

"What  did  he  want?"  asks  Buck. 

"Information,"  sa}'s  our  president.  "Said  he 
was  thinking  of  buying  some  stock.  He  asked  me 
about  nine  hundred  questions,  and  every  one  of  'em 
hit  some  sore  place  in  the  business.  I  know  he's  on  a 
paper.  You  can't  fool  me.  You  see  a  man  about 
half  shabby,  with  an  eye  like  a  gimlet,  smoking  cut 
plug,  with  dandruff  on  his  coat  collar,  and  knowing 
more  than  J.  P.  Morgan  and  Shakespeare  put  to- 
gether—  if  that  ain't  a  reporter  I  never  saw  one.  I 
was  afraid  of  this.     I  don't  mind  detectives  and  post- 


184  The  Gentle  Grafter 

office  inspectors  —  I  talk  to  'em  eight  minutes  and 
then  sell  'em  stock  —  but  them  reporters  take  the 
starch  out  of  my  collar.  Boys,  I  recommend  that  we 
declare  a  dividend  and  fade  away.  The  signs  point 
that  wa3T." 

Me  and  Buck  talked  to  Atterbury  and  got  him 
to  stop  sweating  and  stand  still.  That  fellow  didn't 
look  like  a  reporter  to  us.  Reporters  always  pull 
out  a  pencil  and  tablet  on  you,  and  tell  you  a  story 
you've  heard,  and  strikes  you  for  the  drinks.  But 
Atterbury  was  shaky  and  nervous  all  day. 

The  next  day  me  and  Buck  comes  down  from  the 
hotel  about  ten-thirty.  On  the  way  we  buys  the 
papers,  and  the  first  thing  we  see  is  a  column  on  the 
front  page  about  our  little  imposition.  It  was  a 
shame  the  way  that  reporter  intimated  that  we  were 
no  blood  relatives  of  the  late  George  W.  Childs.  He 
tells  all  about  the  scheme  as  he  sees  it,  in  a  rich,  racy 
kind  of  a  guying  style  that  might  amuse  most  any- 
body except  a  stockholder.  Yes,  Atterbury  was 
right;  it  behooveth  the  gaily  clad  treasurer  and  the 
pearly  pated  president  and  the  rugged  vice-president 
of  the  Golconda  Gold  Bond  and  Investment  Company 
to  go  away  real  sudden  and  quick  that  their  days 
might  be  longer  upon  the  land. 

Me  and  Buck  hurries  down  to  the  office.     We  finds 


A  Tempered  Wind  185 

on  the  stairs  and  in  the  hall  a  crowd  of  people  trying 
to  squeeze  into  our  office,  which  is  already  jammed 
full  inside  to  the  railing.  They're  nearly  all  got 
Golconda  stock  and  Gold  Bonds  in  their  hands.  Me 
and  Buck  judged  they'd  been  reading  the  papers, 
too. 

We  stopped  and  looked  at  our  stockholders,  some 
surprised.  It  wasn't  quite  the  kind  of  a  gang  we 
supposed  had  been  investing.  They  all  looked  like 
poor  people ;  there  was  plenty  of  old  women  and  lots 
of  young  girls  that  you'd  say  worked  in  factories  and 
mills.  Some  was  old  men  that  looked  like  war  vet- 
erans, and  some  was  crippled,  and  a  good  many  was 
just  kids  —  bootblacks  and  newsboys  and  messen- 
gers. Some  was  working-men  in  overalls,  with  their 
sleeves  rolled  up.  Not  one  of  the  gang  looked  like  a 
stockholder  in  anything  unless  it  was  a  peanut  stand. 
But  they  all  had  Golconda  stock  and  looked  as  sick 
as  you  please. 

I  saw  a  queer  kind  of  a  pale  look  come  on  Buck's 
face  when  he  sized  up  the  crowd.  He  stepped  up  to 
a  sickly  looking  woman  and  says :  "Madam,  do  you 
own  any  of  this  stock?" 

"I  put  in  a  hundred  dollars,"  says  the  woman, 
faint  like.     "It  was  all  I  had  saved  in  a  One 

of  my  children  is  dying  at  home  now  and  I  haven't  a 


186 


The  Gentle  Grafter 


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A  Tempered  Wind  187 

cent  in  the  house.  I  came  to  see  if  I  could  draw  out 
some.  The  circulars  said  you  could  draw  it  at  any 
time.     But  they  say  now  I  will  lose  it  all." 

There  was  a  smart  kind  of  a  kid  in  the  gang  —  I 
guess  he  was  a  newsboy.  "I  got  in  twenty-fi', 
mister,"  he  says,  looking  hopeful  at  Buck's  silk  hat 
and  clothes.  "Dey  paid  me  two-fifty  a  mont'  on  it. 
Sa3r,  a  man  tells  me  dey  can't  do  dat  and  be  on  de 
square.  Is  dat  straight?  Do  you  guess  I  can  get 
out  my  twent-fi'?" 

Some  of  the  old  women  was  crjnng.  The  factory 
girls  was  plumb  distracted.  They'd  lost  ail  their  sav- 
ings and  they'd  be  docked  for  the  time  they  lost  com- 
ing to  see  about  it. 

There  was  one  girl  —  a  pretty  one  —  in  a  red 
shawl,  crying  in  a  corner  like  her  heart  would  dis- 
solve.    Buck  goes  over  and  asks  her  about  it. 

"It  ain't  so  much  losing  the  money,  mister,"  says 
she,  shaking  all  over,  "though  I've  been  two  years 
saving  it  up ;  but  Jakey  won't  marry  me  now.  He'll 
take  Rosa  Steinfeld.  I  know  J  —  J  —  Jakey. 
She's  got  $-100  in  the  savings  bank.  Ai,  ai,  ai — " 
she  sings  out. 

Buck  looks  all  around  with  that  same  funny  look 
on  his  face.  And  then  we  see  leaning  against  the 
wall,  puffing  at  his  pipe,  with  his  eye  shining  at  us, 


188 


The  Gentle  Grafter 


this  newspaper  reporter.     Buck  and  me  walks  over  to 
him. 

"You're   a    real   interesting   writer,"    says   Buck. 


'  Jakey  won't  marry  me  now.     He'll   take  Rosa 
Steinfeld:  " 


tt 


How  far  do  you  mean  to  carry  it?     Anything  more 
up  your  sleeve?" 

"Oh,  I'm  just  waiting  around,"  says  the  reporter, 


A  Tempered  Wind  189 

smoking  away,  "in  case  any  news  turns  up.  It's  up 
to  your  stockholders  now.  Some  of  them  might  com- 
plain, you  know.  Isn't  that  the  patrol  wagon 
now?"  he  says,  listening  to  a  sound  outside.  "No," 
he  goes  on,  "that's  Doc.  Whittleford's  old  cadaver 
coupe  from  the  Roosevelt.  I  ought  to  know  that 
gong.  Yes,  I  suppose  I've  written  some  interesting 
stuff"  at  times." 

"You  wait,"  says  Buck;  "I'm  going  to  throw  an 
item  of  news  in  your  way." 

Buck  reaches  in  his  pocket  and  hands  me  a  key. 
I  knew  what  he  meant  before  he  spoke.  Confounded 
old  buccaneer  —  I  knew  what  he  meant.  They  don't 
make  them  any  better  than  Buck. 

"Pick,"  says  he,  looking  at  me  hard,  "ain't  this 
graft  a  little  out  of  our  line?  Do  we  want  Jakey 
to  marry  Rosa  Steinfeld?" 

"You've  got  my  vote,"  says  I.  "I'll  have  it  here 
in  ten  minutes."  And  I  starts  for  the  safe  deposit 
vaults. 

I  comes  back  with  the  money  done  up  in  a  big 
bundle,  and  then  Buck  and  me  takes  the  journalist 
reporter  around  to  another  door  and  we  let  ourselves 
into  one  of  the  office  rooms. 

"Now,  my  literary  friend,"  says  Buck,  "take  a 
chair,  and  keep  still,  and  I'll  give  you  an  interview. 


190  The  Gentle  Grafter 

You  see  before  you  two  grafters  from  Graftersville,, 
Grafter  County,  Arkansas.  Me  and  Pick  have  sold 
brass  jewelry,  hair  tonic,  song  books,  marked  cards, 
patent  medicines,  Connecticut  Smyrna  rugs,  furni- 
ture polish,  and  albums  in  every  town  from  Old  Point 
Comfort  to  the  Golden  Gate.  We've  grafted  a  dol- 
lar whenever  we  saw  one  that  had  a  surplus  look  to  it. 
But  we  never  went  after  the  simoleon  in  the  toe  of  the 
sock  under  the  loose  brick  in  the  corner  of  the  kitchen 
hearth.  There's  an  old  saj'ing  you  may  have  heard 
— 'fussily  decency  averni' — which  means  it's  an 
easy  slide  from  the  street  faker's  dry  goods  box  to  a 
desk  in  Wall  Street.  We've  took  that  slide,  but  we 
didn't  know  exactly  what  was  at  the  bottom  of  it. 
Now,  you  ought  to  be  wise,  but  you  ain't.  You've 
got  New  York  wiseness,  which  means  that  you  judge 
a  man  by  the  outside  of  his  clothes.  That  ain't 
right.  You  ought  to  look  at  the  lining  and  seams 
and  the  button-holes.  While  we  are  waiting  for  the 
patrol  wagon  you  might  get  out  your  little  stub  pen- 
cil and  take  notes  for  another  funny  piece  in  the 
paper." 

And  then  Buck  turns  to  me  and  says:  "I  don't 
care  what  Atterbury  thinks.  He  only  put  in  brains, 
and  if  he  gets  his  capital  out  he's  lucky.  But  what 
do  you  say,  Pick",-1 


A  Tempered  Wind  191 

"Me?"  says  I.  "You  ought  to  know  me,  Buck. 
I  didn't  know  who  was  buying  the  stock." 

"All  right,"  says  Buck.  And  then  he  goes 
through  the  inside  door  into  the  main  office  and  looks 
at  the  gang  trying  to  squeeze  through  the  railing. 
Atterbury  and  his  hat  was  gone.  And  Buck  makes 
'em  a  short  speech. 

"All  you  lambs  get  in  line.  You're  going  to  get 
your  wool  back.  Don't  shove  so.  Get  in  a  line  — 
a  line —  not  in  a  pile.  Lad}',  will  you  please  stop 
bleating?  Your  money's  waiting  for  you.  Here, 
sonny,  don't  climb  over  that  railing ;  your  dimes  are 
safe.  Don't  cr}',  sis ;  you  ain't  out  a  cent.  Get  in 
line,  I  say.  Here,  Pick,  come  and  straighten  'em  out 
and  let  'em  through  and  out  by  the  other  door." 

Buck  takes  off  his  coat,  pushes  his  silk  hat  on  the 
back  of  his  head,  and  lights  up  a  reina  victoria.  He 
sets  at  the  table  with  the  boodle  before  him,  all  done 
up  in  neat  packages.  I  gets  the  stockholders  strung 
out  and  marches  'em,  single  file,  through  from  the 
main  room ;  and  the  reporter  man  passes  'em  out  of 
the  side  door  into  the  hall  again.  As  they  go  by, 
Buck  takes  up  the  stock  and  the  Gold  Bonds,  paying 
'em  cash,  dollar  for  dollar,  the  same  as  they  paid  in. 
The  shareholders  of  the  Golconda  Gold  Bond  and 
Investment  Company  can't  hardly  believe  it.     They 


192 


The  Gentle  Grafter 

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A  Tempered  Wind  193 

almost  grabs  the  money  out  of  Buck's  hands.  Some 
of  the  women  keep  on  crying,  for  it's  a  custom  of  the 
sex  to  cry  when  they  have  sorrow,  to  weep  when  they 
have  joy,  and  to  shed  tears  whenever  they  find  them- 
selves without  either. 

The  old  women's  fingers  shake  when  they  stuff  the 
skads  in  the  bosom  of  their  rusty  dresses.  The  fac- 
tory girls  just  stoop  over  and  flap  their  dry  goods  a 
second,  and  you  hear  the  elastic  go  "pop"  as  the 
currency  goes  down  in  the  ladies'  department  of  the 
"Old  Domestic  Lisle-Thread  Bank." 

Some  of  the  stockholders  that  had  been  doing  the 
Jeremiah  act  the  loudest  outside  had  spasms  of  re- 
stored confidence  and  wanted  to  leave  the  monej'  in- 
vested. "Salt  away  that  chicken  feed  in  your  duds, 
and  skip  along,"  says  Buck.  "What  business  have 
you  got  investing  in  bonds?  The  tea-pot  or  the 
crack  in  the  wall  behind  the  clock  for  your  hoard  of 
pennies." 

When  the  pretty  girl  in  the  red  shawl  cashes  in 
Buck  hands  her  an  extra  twenty. 

"A  wedding  present,"  says  our  treasurer,  "from 
the  Golconda  Company.  And  say  —  if  Jakey  ever 
follows  his  nose,  even  at  a  respectful  distance,  around 
the  corner  where  Rosa  Steinfeld  lives,  you  are  hereby 
authorized  to  knock  a  couple  of  inches  of  it  off." 


194  The  Gentle  Grafter 

When  they  was  all  paid  off  and  gone,  Buck  calls 
the  newspaper  reporter  and  shoves  the  rest  of  the 
money  over  to  him. 

"You  begun  this,"  says  Buck ;  "now  finish  it. 
Over  there  are  the  books,  showing  every  share  and 
bond  issued.  Here's  the  money  to  cover,  except  what 
we've  spent  to  live  on.  You'll  have  to  act  as  re- 
ceiver. I  guess  you'll  do  the  square  thing  on  account 
of  your  paper.  This  is  the  best  way  we  know  how  to 
settle  it.  Me  and  our  substantial  but  apple-weary 
vice-president  are  going  to  follow  the  example  of  our 
revered  president,  and  skip.  Now,  have  you  got 
enough  news  for  to-day,  or  do  you  want  to  interview 
us  on  etiquette  and  the  best  way  to  make  over  an  old 
taffeta  skirt?" 

"News  1"  says  the  newspaper  man,  taking  his 
pipe  out;  "do  you  think  I  could  use  this?  I  don't 
want  to  lose  my  job.  Suppose  I  go  around  to  the 
office  and  tell  'em  this  happened.  What'll  the  man- 
aging editor  say?  He'll  just  hand  me  a  pass  to 
Bellevue  and  tell  me  to  come  back  when  I  get  cured. 
I  might  turn  in  a  story  about  a  sea  serpent  wiggling 
up  Broadway,  but  I  haven't  got  the  nerve  to  try  'em 
with  a  pipe  like  this.  A  get-rich-quick  —  excuse 
me  —  gang  giving  back  the  boodle !  Oh,  no.  I'm 
not  on  the  comic  supplement." 


A  Tempered  Wind  195 

"You  can't  understand  it,  of  course,"  say*  Buck, 
with  his  hand  on  the  door  knob.  "Me  and  Pick  ain't 
Wall  Streeters  like  you  know  'em.  We  never  al- 
lowed to  swindle  sick  old  women  and  working  girls 
and  take  nickels  off  of  kids.  In  the  lines  of  graft 
we've  worked  we  took  monej^  from  the  people  the  Lord 
made  to  be  buncoed  —  sports  and  rounders  and 
smart  Alecks  and  street  crowds,  that  always  have  a 
few  dollars  to  throw  away,  and  farmers  that  wouldn't 
ever  be  happy  if  the  grafters  didn't  come  around  and 
play  with  'em  when  they  sold  their  crops.  We  never 
cared  to  fish  for  the  kind  of  suckers  that  bite  here. 
No,  sir.  We  got  too  much  respect  for  the  profes- 
sion and  for  ourselves.  Good-by  to  you,  Mr. 
Receiver." 

"Here!"  says  the  journalist  reporter;  "wait  a 
minute.  There's  a  broker  I  know  on  the  next  floor. 
Wait  till  I  put  this  truck  in  his  safe.  I  want  you 
fellows  to  take  a  drink  on  me  before  you  go." 

"On  you?"  says  Buck,  winking  solemn.  "Don't 
you  go  and  try  to  make  'em  believe  at  the  office  you 
said  that.  Thanks.  We  can't  spare  the  time,  I 
reckon.      So  long." 

And  me  and  Buck  slides  out  the  door;  and  that's 
the  way  the  Golconda  Company  went  into  involun- 
tary liquefaction. 


196  The  Gentle  Grafter 

If  you  had  seen  me  and  Buck  the  next  night  you'd 
have  had  to  go  to  a  little  bum  hotel  over  near  the 
West  Side  ferry  landings.  We  was  in  a  little  back 
room,  and  I  was  filling  up  a  gross  of  six-ounce  bot- 
tles with  hydrant  water  colored  red  with  aniline  and 
flavored  with  cinnamon.  Buck  was  smoking,  con- 
tented, and  he  wore  a  decent  brown  derby  in  place  of 
his  silk  hat. 

"It's  a  good  thing,  Pick,"  says  he,  as  he  drove 
in  the  corks,  "that  we  got  Brady  to  loan  us  his  horse 
and  wagon  for  a  week.  We'll  rustle  up  a  stake  by 
then.  This  hair  tonie'll  sell  right  along  over  in 
Jersey.  Bald  heads  ain't  popular  over  there  on  ac- 
count of  the  mosquitoes." 

Directly  I  dragged  out  my  valise  and  went  down 
in  it  for  labels. 

"Hair  tonic  labels  are  out,"  says  I.  "Only 
about  a  dozen  on  hand." 

"Buy  some  more,"  says  Buck. 

We  investigated  our  pockets  and  found  we  had 
just  enough  mone}'  to  settle  our  hotel  bill  in  the 
morning  and  pay  our  passage  over  the  ferry. 

"Plenty  of  the  'Shake-the-Shakes  Chill  Cure' 
labels,"  says  I,  after  looking. 

"What  more  do  you  want?"  says  Buck.  "Slap 
'em  on.     The  chill  season  is  just  opening  up  in  the 


A  Tempered  Wind  197 

Hackensack  low  grounds.  What's  hair,  anyway,  if 
you  have  to  shake  it  off?" 

We  posted  on  the  Chill  Cure  labels  about  half  an 
hour  and  Buck  says : 

"Making  an  honest  livin's  better  than  that  Wall 
Street,  an}Thow;  ain't  it,  Pick?" 

"You  bet,"  says  I. 


HOSTAGES  TO  MOMUS 

I 

I  NEVER  got  inside  of  the  legitimate  line  of  graft 
but  once.  But,  one  time,  as  I  say,  I  reversed  the  de- 
cision of  the  revised  statutes  and  undertook  a  thing 
that  I'd  have  to  apologize  for  even  under  the  New 
Jersey  trust  laws. 

Me  and  Caligula  Polk,  of  Muskogee  in  the  Creek 
Nation,  was  down  in  the  Mexican  State  of  Tamauli- 
pas  running  a  perpipatetic  lottery  and  monte  game. 
Now,  selling  lottery  tickets  is  a  government  graft 
in  Mexico,  just  like  selling  forty-eight  cents'  worth 
of  postage-stamps  for  forty-nine  cents  is  over  here. 
So  Uncle  Porfirio  he  instructs  the  rurales  to  attend  to 
our  case. 

Rurales?     They're  a  sort  of  country  police;  but 

don't    draw    any    mental    crayon    portraits    of    the 

wortlry  constable  with  a  tin  star  and  a  gray  goatee. 

The     rurales  —  well,    if    we'd    mount    our    Supreme 

Court  on   broncos,  arm  'cm  with  Winchesters,  and 

start  'em  out  after  John  Doe  et  al.  we'd  have  about 

the  same  thing. 

198 


Hostages  to  Momus  199 

When  the  rurales  started  for  us  we  started  for  the 
States.  They  chased  us  as  far  as  Matamoras.  We 
hid  in  a  brickyard ;  and  that  night  we  swum  the  Rio 
Grande,  Caligula  with  a  brick  in  each  hand,  absent- 
minded,  which  he  drops  upon  the  soil  of  Texas,  for- 
getting he  had  'em. 

From  there  we  emigrated  to  San  Antone,  and  then 
over  to  New  Orleans,  where  we  took  a  rest.  And  in 
that  town  of  cotton  bales  and  other  adjuncts  to 
female  beauty  we  made  the  acquaintance  of  drinks 
invented  by  the  Creoles  during  the  period  of  Louey 
Cans,  in  which  they  are  still  served  at  the  side  doors. 
The  most  I  can  remember  of  this  town  is  that  me  and 
Caligula  and  a  Frenchman  named  McCarty  —  wait 
a  minute;  Adolph  McCarty  —  was  trying  to  make 
the  French  Quarter  pay  up  the  back  trading-stamps 
due  on  the  Louisiana  Purchase,  when  somebody  hol- 
lers that  the  johndarms  are  coming.  I  have  an  insuf- 
ficient recollection  of  buj'ing  two  yellow  tickets 
through  a  window ;  and  I  seemed  to  see  a  man  swing  a 
lantern  and  say  "All  aboard !"  I  remembered  no 
more,  except  that  the  train  butcher  was  covering  me 
and  Caligula  up  with  Augusta  J.  Evans's  works  and 
figs. 

When  we  become  revised,  we  find  that  we  have 
collided  up  against  the  State  of  Georgia  at  a  spot 


200  The  Gentle  Grafter 

hitherto  unaccounted  for  in  time  tables  except  by  an 
asterisk,  which  means  that  trains  stop  every  other 
Thursday  on  signal  by  tearing  up  a  rail.  We  was 
waked  up  in  a  yellow  pine  hotel  by  the  noise  of 
flowers  and  the  smell  of  birds.  Yes,  sir,  for  the  wind 
was  banging  sunflowers  as  big  as  buggy  wheels 
against  the  weatherboarding  and  the  chicken  coop 
was  right  under  the  window.  Me  and  Caligula 
dressed  and  went  down-stairs.  The  landlord  was 
shelling  peas  on  the  front  porch.  He  wras  six  feet  of 
chills  and  fever,  and  Hongkong  in  complexion 
though  in  other  respects  he  seemed  amenable  in  the 
exercise  of  his  sentiments  and  features. 

Caligula,  who  is  a  spokesman  by  birth,  and  a  small 
man,  though  red-haired  and  impatient  of  painful- 
ness  of  any  kind,  speaks  up. 

"Pardner,"  says  he,  "good-morning,  and  be 
darned  to  3^ou.  Would  you  mind  telling  us  why 
we  are  at?  We  know  the  reason  wTe  are  where,  but 
can't  exactly  figure  out  on  account  of  at  what 
place." 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  says  the  landlord,  "I  reck- 
oned you-all  would  be  inquiring  this  morning.  You- 
all  dropped  off  of  the  nine  thirty  train  here  last 
night ;  and  you  was  right  tight.  Yes,  you  was  right 
smart  in  liquor.     I  can  inform  you  that  you  are  now 


Hostages  to  Momus  201 

in  the  town  of  Mountain  Valley,  in  the  State  of 
Georgia." 

"On  top  of  that,"  says  Caligula,  "don't  say  that 
we  can't  have  anything  to  eat." 

"Sit  down,  gentlemen,"  says  the  landlord,  "and 
in  twenty  minutes  I'll  call  you  to  the  best  breakfast 
you  can  get  anywhere  in  town." 

That  breakfast  turned  out  to  be  composed  of  fried 
bacon  and  a  3Tellowish  edifice  that  proved  up  some- 
thing between  pound  cake  and  flexible  sandstone. 
The  landlord  calls  it  corn  pone ;  and  then  he  sets  out 
a  dish  of  the  exaggerated  breakfast  food  known  as 
hominy ;  and  so  me  and  Caligula  makes  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  celebrated  food  that  enabled  every 
Johnny  Reb  to  lick  one  and  two-thirds  Yankees  for 
nearly  four  years  at  a  stretch. 

"The  wonder  to  me  is,"  says  Caligula,  "that 
Uncle  Robert  Lee's  boys  didn't  chase  the  Grant  and 
Sherman  outfit  clear  up  into  Hudson's  Bay.  It 
would  have  made  me  that  mad  to  eat  this  truck  they 
call  mahogany  !" 

"Hog  and  hominy,"  I  explains,  "is  the  staple 
food  of  t'  Hon." 

"Then,"  says  Caligula,  "they  ought  to  keep  it 
where  it  belongs.  I  thought  this  was  a  hotel  and  not 
a  stable.     Now,  if  we  was  in  Muskogee  at  the  St. 


202  The  Gentle  Grafter 

Lucifer  House,  I'd  show  you  some  breakfast  grub. 
Antelope  steaks  and  fried  liver  to  begin  on,  and  ven- 
ison cutlets  with  chili  con  came  and  pineapple  frit- 
ters, and  then  some  sardines  and  mixed  pickles ;  and 
top  it  off  with  a  can  of  yellow  clings  and  a  bottle  of 
beer.  You  won't  find  a  layout  like  that  on  the  bill 
of  affairs  of  any  of  your  Eastern  restauraws." 

"Too  lavish,"  says  I.  "I've  traveled,  and  I'm 
unprejudiced.  There'll  never  be  a  perfect  breakfast 
eaten  until  some  man  grows  arms  long  enough  to 
stretch  down  to  New  Orleans  for  his  coffee  and  over 
to  Norfolk  for  his  rolls,  and  reaches  up  to  Vermont 
and  digs  a  slice  of  butter  out  of  a  spring-house,  and 
then  turns  over  a  beehive  close  to  a  white  clover  patch 
out  in  Indiana  for  the  rest.  Then  he'd  come  pretty 
close  to  making  a  meal  on  the  amber  that  the  gods 
eat  on  Mount  Olympia." 

"Too  ephemeral,"  says  Caligula.  "I'd  want 
ham  and  eggs,  or  rabbit  stew,  anyhow,  for  a  chaser. 
What  do  you  consider  the  most  edifying  and  casual 
in  the  way  of  a  dinner?" 

"I've  been  infatuated  from  time  to  time,"  I  an- 
swers, "with  fancy  ramifications  of  grub  such  as 
terrapins,  lobsters,  reed  birds,  jambolaya,  and  can- 
vas-covered ducks ;  but  after  all  there's  nothing  less 
displeasing  to  me  than  a  beefsteak  smothered  in  muah- 


Hostages  to  Momus  203 

rooms  on  a  balcony  in  sound  of  the  Broadway  street- 
cars, with  a  hand-organ  playing  down  below,  and  the 
boys  hollering  extras  about  the  latest  suicide.  For 
the  wine,  give  me  a  reasonble  Ponty  Cany.  And 
that's  all,  except  a  demi-tasse." 

"Well,"  says  Caligula,  "I  reckon  in  New  York 
you  get  to  be  a  conniseer;  and  when  you  go  around 
with  the  demi-tasse  you  are  naturally  bound  to  buy 
'em  stylish  grub." 

"It's  a  great  town  for  epicures,"  says  I.  "You'd 
soon  fall  into  their  ways  if  you  was  there." 

"I've  heard  it  was,"  says  Caligula.  "But  I 
reckon  I  wouldn't.  I  can  polish  my  fingernails  all 
they  need  myself." 

II 

After  breakfast  we  went  out  on  the  front  porch, 
lighted  up  two  of  the  landlord's  flor  de  upas  per- 
fectos,  and  took  a  look  at  Georgia. 

The  installment  of  scenery  visible  to  the  eye  looked 
mighty  poor.  As  far  as  we  could  see  was  red  hills 
all  washed  down  with  gullies  and  scattered  over  with 
patches  of  piny  woods.  Blackberry  bushes  was  all 
that  kept  the  rail  fences  from  falling  down.  About 
fifteen  miles  over  to  the  north  was  a  little  range  of 
well-timbered  mountains. 


204  The  Gentle  Grafter 

That  town  of  Mountain  Valley  wasn't  going. 
About  a  dozen  people  permeated  along  the  side- 
walks ;  but  what  you  saw  mostly  was  rain-barrels  and 
roosters,  and  boys  poking  around  with  sticks  in  piles 
of  ashes  made  by  burning  the  scenery  of  Uncle  Tom 
shows. 

And  just  then  there  passes  down  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street  a  high  man  in  a  long  black  coat  and  a 
beaver  hat.  All  the  people  in  sight  bowed,  and  some 
crossed  the  street  to  shake  hands  with  him ;  folks 
came  out  of  stores  and  houses  to  holler  at  him ;  women 
leaned  out  of  windows  and  smiled ;  and  all  the  kids 
stopped  playing  to  look  at  him.  Our  landlord 
stepped  out  on  the  porch  and  bent  himself  double  like 
a  carpenter's  rule,  and  sung  out,  "Good-morning, 
Colonel,"  when  he  was  a  dozen  yards  gone  by. 

"And  is  that  Alexander,  pa?"  says  Caligula  to 
the  landlord ;  "and  why  is  he  called  great?" 

"That,  gentlemen,"  says  the  landlord,  "is  no  less 
than  Colonel  Jackson  T.  Rockingham,  the  presi- 
dent of  the  Sunrise  &  Edenville  Tap  Railroad.,  mayor 
of  Mountain  Valley,  and  chairman  of  the  Perry 
County  board  of  immigration  and  public  improve- 
ments." 

"Been  away  a  good  many  years,  hasn't  he?"  I 
asked. 


Hostages  to  Momus  205 

"No,  sir ;  Colonel  Rockingham  is  going  down  to 
the  post-office  for  his  mail.  His  fellow-citizens  take 
pleasure  in  greeting  him  thus  every  morning.  The 
colonel  is  our  most  prominent  citizen.  Besides  the 
height  of  the  stock  of  the  Sunrise  &  Edenville  Tap 
Railroad,  he  owns  a  thousand  acres  of  that  land 
across  the  creek.  Mountain  Valley  delights,  sir,  to 
honor  a  citizen  of  such  worth  and  public  spirit." 

For  an  hour  that  afternoon  Caligula  sat  on  the 
back  of  his  neck  on  the  porch  and  studied  a  news- 
paper, which  was  unusual  in  a  man  who  despised 
print.  When  he  was  through  he  took  me  to  the  end 
of  the  porch  among  the  sunlight  and  drying  dish- 
towels.  I  knew  that  Caligula  had  invented  a  new 
graft.  For  he  chewed  the  ends  of  his  mustache  and 
ran  the  left  catch  of  his  suspenders  up  and  down? 
which  was  his  way. 

"What  is  it  now?"  I  asks.  "Just  so  it  ain't 
floating  mining  stocks  or  raising  Pennsylvania  pinks, 
we'll  talk  it  over." 

"Pennsylvania  pinks?  Oh,  that  refers  to  a  coin- 
raising  scheme  of  the  Keystoners.  They  burn  the 
soles  of  old  women's  feet  to  make  them  tell  where 
their  money's  hid." 

Caligula's  words  in  business  was  always  few  and 
bitter. 


206  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"You  see  them  mountains,"  said  he,  pointing. 
"And  you  seen  that  colonel  man  that  owns  railroads 
and  cuts  more  ice  when  he  goes  to  the  post-office  than 
Roosevelt  does  when  he  cleans  'em  out.  What  we're 
going  to  do  is  to  kidnap  the  latter  into  the  former, 
and  inflict  a  ransom  of  ten  thousand  dollars." 

"Illegality,"  says  I,  shaking  my  head. 

"I  knew  you'd  say  that,"  says  Caligula.  "At 
first  sight  it  does  seem  to  jar  peace  and  dignity. 
But  it  don't.  I  got  the  idea  out  of  that  newspaper. 
Would,  you  commit  aspersions  on  a  equitable  graft 
that  the  United  States  itself  has  condoned  and  in- 
dorsed and  ratified?" 

"Kidnapping,"  says  I,  "is  an  immoral  function  in 
the  derogatory  list  of  the  statutes.  If  the  United 
States  upholds  it,  it  must  be  a  recent  enactment  of 
ethics,  along  with  race  suicide  and  rural  delivery." 

"Listen,"  says  Caligula,  "and  I'll  explain  the 
case  set  down  in  the  papers.  Here  was  a  Greek 
citizen  named  Burdick  Harris,"  says  he,  "captured 
for  a  graft  by  Africans  ;  and  the  United  States  sends 
two  gunboats  to  the  State  of  Tangiers  and  makes 
the  King  of  Morocco  give  up  seventy  thousand  dol- 
lars to  Raisuli." 

"Go  slow,"  says  I.     "That  sounds   too  interna- 


Hostages  to  Momus  207 

tional  to  take  in  all  at  once.  It's  like  'thimble, 
thimble,  who's  got  the  naturalization  papers?"' 

"  'Twas  press  despatches  from  Constantinople," 
says  Caligula.  "You'll  see,  six  months  from  now. 
They'll  be  confirmed  by  the  monthly  magazines ;  and 
then  it  won't  be  long  till  you'll  notice  'em  alongside 
of  photos  of  the  Mount  Pelee  eruption  photos  in  the 
while-you-get-j'our-hair-cut  weeklies.  It's  all  right, 
Pick.  This  African  man  Raisuli  hides  Burdick  Har- 
ris up  in  the  mountains,  and  advertises  his  price  to 
the  governments  of  different  nations.  Now,  you 
wouldn't  think  for  a  minute,"  goes  on  Caligula, 
"that  John  Hay  would  have  chipped  in  and  helped 
this  graft  along  if  it  wTasn't  a  square  game,  would 
you?" 

"Why,  no,"  says  I.  "I've  always  stood  right  in 
with  Bryan's  policies,  and  I  couldn't  consciously  say 
a  word  against  the  Republican  administration  just 
now.  But  if  Harris  was  a  Greek,  on  what  system  of 
international  protocols  did  Hay  interfere?" 

"It  ain't  exactly  set  forth  in  the  papers,"  says 
Caligula.  "I  suppose  it's  a  matter  of  sentiment. 
You  know  he  wrote  this  poem,  'Little  Breeches'; 
and  them  Greeks  wear  little  or  none.  But  anyhow, 
John  Hay  sends  the  Brooklyn  and  the  Olympia  over, 


208  The  Gentle  Grafter 

and  they  cover  Africa  with  thirty-inch  guns.  And 
then  Hay  cables  after  the  health  of  the  persona 
grata.  'And  how  are  they  this  morning?'  he  wires. 
'Is  Burdick  Harris  alive  yet,  or  Mr.  Raisuli  dead?' 
And  the  King  of  Morocco  sends  up  the  seventy 
thousand  dollars,  and  they  turn  Burdick  Harris 
loose.  And  there's  not  half  the  hard  feelings  among 
the  nations  about  this  little  kidnapping  matter  as 
there  was  about  the  peace  congress.  And  Burdick 
Harris  says  to  the  reporters,  in  the  Greek  language, 
that  he's  often  heard  about  the  United  States,  and 
he  admires  Roosevelt  next  to  Raisuli,  who  is  one  of 
the  whitest  and  most  gentlemanly  kidnappers  that  he 
ever  worked  alongside  of.  So  you  see,  Pick,"  winds 
up  Caligula,  "we've  got  the  law  of  nations  on  our 
side.  We'll  cut  this  colonel  man  out  of  the  herd,  and 
corral  him  in  them  little  mountains,  and  stick  up  his 
heirs  and  assigns  for  ten  thousand  dollars." 

"Well,  you  seldom  little  red-headed  territorial  ter- 
ror," I  answers,  "you  can't  bluff  your  uncle  Tecum- 
seh  Pickens !  I'll  be  your  company  in  this  graft. 
But  I  misdoubt  if  you've  absorbed  the  inwardness  of 
this  Burdick  Harris  case,  Calig ;  and  if  on  any  morn~ 
ing  we  get  a  telegram  from  the  Secretary  of  State 
asking  about  the  health  of  the  scheme,  I  propose  to 
acquire  the  most  propinquitous  and  celeritous  mule  m. 


Hostages  to  Momus  209 

this  section  and  gallop  diplomatically  over  into  the 
neighboring  and  peaceful  nation  of  Alabama." 


Ill 


Me  and  Caligula  spent  the  next  three  days  investi- 
gating the  bunch  of  mountains  into  which  we  pro- 
posed to  kidnap  Colonel  Jackson  T.  Rockingham. 
We  finally  selected  an  upright  slice  of  topography 
covered  with  bushes  and  trees  that  you  could  only 
reach  by  a  secret  path  that  we  cut  out  up  the  side  of 
it.  And  the  only  way  to  reach  the  mountain  was  to 
follow  up  the  bend  of  a  branch  that  wound  among 
the  elevations. 

Then  I  took  in  hand  an  important  subdivision  of 
the  proceedings.  I  went  up  to  Atlanta  on  the  train 
and  laid  in  a  two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar  supply  of 
the  most  gratif}Ting  and  efficient  lines  of  grub  that 
monev  could  buy.  I  alwavs  was  an  admirer  of 
viands  in  their  more  palliative  and  revised  stages. 
Hog  and  hominy  are  not  only  inartistic  to  my  stom- 
ach, but  they  give  indigestion  to  my  moral  senti- 
ments. And  I  thought  of  Colonel  Jackson  T.  Rock- 
ingham, president  of  the  Sunrise  &  Edenville  Tap 
Railroad,  and  how  he  would  miss  the  luxury  of  his 
home  fare  as  is  so  famous  among  wealthy  Southern- 


210  The  Gentle  Grafter 

ers.  So  I  sunk  half  of  mine  and  Caligula's  capital 
in  as  elegant  a  layout  of  fresh  and  canned  provisions 
as  Burdick  Harris  or  any  other  professional  kid- 
nappee  ever  saw  in  a  camp. 

I  put  another  hundred  in  a  couple  of  cases  of  Bor- 
deaux, two  quarts  of  cognac,  two  hundred  Havana 
regalias  with  gold  bands,  and  a  camp  stove  and  stools 
and  folding  cots.  I  wanted  Colonel  Rockingham  to 
be  comfortable;  and  I  hoped  after  he  gave  up  the 
ten  thousand  dollars  he  would  give  me  and  Caligula 
as  good  a  name  for  gentlemen  and  entertainers  as 
the  Greek  man  did  the  friend  of  his  that  made  the 
United  States  his  bill  collector  against  Africa. 

When  the  goods  came  down  from  Atlanta,  we  hired 
a  wagon,  moved  them  up  on  the  little  mountain,  and 
established  camp.     And  then  we  laid  for  the  colonel. 

We  caught  him  one  morning  about  two  miles  out 
from  Mountain  Valley,  oh  his  way  to  look  after  some 
of  his  burnt  umber  farm  land.  He  was  an  elegant 
old  gentleman,  as  thin  and  tall  as  a  trout  rod,  with 
frazzled  shirt-cuffs  and  specs  on  a  black  string.  We 
explained  to  him,  brief  and  easy,  what  we  wanted; 
and  Caligula  showed  him,  careless,  the  handle  of  his 
forty-five  under  his  coat. 

"What?"  says  Colonel  Rockingham.  "Bandits 
in  Perry    County,    Georgia !     I    shall    see   that   the 


Hostages  to  Momus  211 

board  of  immigration  and  public  improvements  bears 
of  this !" 

"Be  so  unfoolhardy  as  to  climb  into  that  buggy," 
says  Caligula,  "by  order  of  the  board  of  perforation 
and  public  depravity.  This  is  a  business  meeting, 
and  we're  anxious  to  adjourn  sine  qua  iwn." 

We  drove  Colonel  Rockingham  over  the  mountain 
and  up  the  side  of  it  as  far  as  the  buggy  could  go. 
Then  we  tied  the  horse,  and  took  our  prisoner  on 
foot  up  to  the  camp. 

"Now,  colonel,"  I  says  to  him,  "we're  after  the 
ransom,  me  and  my  partner;  and  no  harm  will  come 
to  you  if  the  King  of  Mor  —  if  your  friends  send 
up  the  dust.  In  the  mean  time  we  are  gentlemen  the 
same  as  you.  And  if  you  give  us  your  word  not  to 
try  to  escape,  the  freedom  of  the  camp  is  yours." 

"I  give  you  my  word,"  says  the  colonel. 

"All  right,"  says  I;  "and  now  it's  eleven  o'clock, 
and  me  and  Mr.  Polk  will  proceed  to  inoculate  the 
occasion  with  a  few  well-timed  trivialities  in  the  line 
of  grub." 

"Thank  you,"  says  the  colonel ;  "I  believe  I  could 
relish  a  slice  of  bacon  and  a  plate  of  hominy." 

"But  you  won't,"  says  I  emphatic.  "Not  in  this 
camp.  We  soar  in  higher  regions  than  them  occupied 
by  your  celebrated  but  repulsive  dish." 


212  The  Gentle  Grafter 

While  the  colonel  read  his  paper,  me  and  Caligula 
took  off  our  coats  and  went  in  for  a  little  luncheon 
de  luxe  just  to  show  him.  Caligula  was  a  fine  cook 
of  the  Western  brand.  He  could  toast  a  buffalo  or 
fricassee  a  couple  of  steers  as  easy  as  a  woman  could 
make  a  cup  of  tea.  He  was  gifted  in  the  way  of 
knocking  together  edibles  when  haste  and  muscle  and 
quantity  was  to  be  considered.  He  held  the  record 
west  of  the  Arkansas  River  for  frying  pancakes  with 
his  left  hand,  broiling  venison  cutlets  with  his  right, 
and  skinning  a  rabbit  with  his  teeth  at  the  same  time 
But  I  could  do  things  en  casserole  and  a  la  creole,  and 
handle  the  oil  and  tobasco  as  gently  and  nicely  as  a 
French  chef. 

So  at  twelve  o'clock  we  had  a  hot  lunch  ready  that 
looked  like  a  banquet  on  a  Mississippi  River  steam- 
boat. We  spread  it  on  the  tops  of  two  or  three  big 
boxes,  opened  two  quarts  of  the  red  wine,  set  the 
olives  and  a  canned  oyster  cocktail  and  a  ready-made 
Martini  by  the  colonel's  plate,  and  called  him  to 
grub. 

Colonel  Rockingham  drew  up  his  campstool,  wiped 
off  his  specs,  and  looked  at  the  things  on  the  table. 
Then  I  thought  he  was  swearing;  and  I  felt  mean 
because  I  hadn't  taken  more  pains  with  the  victuals. 
But  he  wasn't ;  he  was  asking  a  blessing ;  and  me  and 


Hostages  to  Momus  213 

Caligula  hung  our  heads,  and  I  saw  a  tear  drop  from 
the  colonel's  eye  into  his  cocktail. 

I  never  saw  a  man  eat  with  so  much  earnestness  and 
application  —  not  hastily,  like  a  grammarian,  or  one 
of  the  canal,  but  slow  and  appreciative,  like  a  ana- 
conda, or  a  real  tive  bonjour. 

In  an  hour  and  a  half  the  colonel  leaned  back.  I 
brought  him  a  pony  of  brandy  and  his  black  coffee, 
and  set  the  box  of  Havana  regalias  on  the  table. 

"Gentlemen,"  says  he,  blowing  out  the  smoke  and 
trying  to  breathe  it  back  again,  "when  we  view  the 
eternal  hills  and  the  smiling  and  beneficent  landscape, 
and  reflect  upon  the  goodness  of  the  Creator  who  — " 

"Excuse  me,  colonel,"  says  I,  "but  there's  some 
business  to  attend  to  now" ;  and  I  brought  out  paper 
and  pen  and  ink  and  laid  'em  before  him.  "Who  do 
you  want  to  send  to  for  the  money?"  I  asks. 

"I  reckon,"  says  he,  after  thinking  a  bit,  "to  the 
vice-president  of  our  railroad,  at  the  general  offices 
of  the  Company  in  Edenville." 

"How  far  is  it  to  Edenville  from  here?"  I  asked. 

"About  ten  miles,"  says  he. 

Then  I  dictated  these  lines,  and  Colonel  Rocking- 
ham wrote  them  out : 

I  am  kidnapped  and  held  a  prisoner  by  two  desperate  out- 
laws in   a  place   which  is   useless  to  attempt   to  find.    They 


214  The  Gentle  Grafter 

demand  ten  thousand  dollars  at  once  for  my  release.  The 
amount  must  he  raised  immediately,  and  these  directions  fol- 
lowed. Come  alone  with  the  money  to  Stony  Creek,  which 
runs  out  of  Blacktop  Mountains.  Follow  the  bed  of  the  creek 
till  you  come  to  a  big  flat  rock  on  the  left  bank,  on  which 
is  marked  a  cross  in  red  chalk.  Stand  on  the  rock  and  wave 
a  white  flag.  A  guide  will  come  to  you  and  conduct  you  to 
where  I  am  held.     Lose  no  time. 

After  the  colonel  had  finished  this,  he  asked  permis- 
sion to  tack  on  a  postscript  about  how  white  he  was 
being  treated,  so  the  railroad  wouldn't  feel  uneasy  in 
its  bosom  about  him.  We  agreed  to  that.  He  wrote 
down  that  he  had  just  had  lunch  with  the  two  des- 
perate ruffians  ;  and  then  he  set  down  the  whole  bill  of 
fare,  from  cocktails  to  coffee.  He  wound  up  with 
the  remark  that  dinner  would  be  ready  about  six,  and 
would  probably  be  a  more  licentious  and  intemperate 
affair  than  lunch. 

Me  and  Caligula  read  it,  and  decided  to  let  it  go ; 
for  we,  being  cooks,  were  amenable  to  praise,  though 
it  sounded  out  of  place  on  a  sight  draft  for  ten  thou- 
sand dollars. 

I  took  the  letter  over  to  the  Mountain  Valley  road 
and  watched  for  a  messenger.  By  and  by  a  colored 
equestrian  came  along  on  horseback,  riding  toward 
Edenville.  I  gave  him  a  dollar  to  take  the  letter  to 
the  railroad  offices ;  and  then  I  went  back  to  camp. 


Hostages  to  Momus  215 

IV 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Caligula,  who 
was  acting  as  lookout,  calls  to  me: 

"I  have  to  report  a  white  shirt  signaling  on  the 
starboard  bow,  sir." 

I  went  down  the  mountain  and  brought  back  a  fat, 
red  man  in  an  alpaca  coat  and  no  collar. 

"Gentlemen,"  says  Colonel  Rockingham,  "allow 
me  to  introduce  my  brother,  Captain  Duval  C.  Rock- 
ingham, vice-president  of  the  Sunrise  &  Edenville 
Tap  Railroad." 

"Otherwise  the  King  of  Morocco,"  says  I.  "I 
reckon  }tou  don't  mind  my  counting  the  ransom,  just 
as  a  business  formality." 

"Well,  no,  not  exactly,"  says  the  fat  man,  "not 
when  it  comes.  I  turned  that  matter  over  to  our 
second  vice-president.  I  was  anxious  after  Brother 
Jackson's  safetiness.  I  reckon  he'll  be  along  right 
soon.  What  does  that  lobster  salad  you  mentioned 
taste  like,  Brother  Jackson?" 

"Mr.  Vice-President,"  says  I,  "you'll  oblige  us 
by  remaining  here  till  the  second  V.  P.  arrives.  This 
is  a  private  rehearsal,  and  we  don't  want  any  road- 
side speculators  selling  tickets." 

In  half  an  hour  Caligula  sings  out  again: 


216  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"Sail  hoi     Looks  like  an  apron  on  a  broomstick." 

I  perambulated  down  the  cliff  again,  and  escorted 
up  a  man  six  foot  three,  with  a  sandy  beard  and  no 
other  dimensions  that  you  could  notice.  Thinks  I  to 
nryself,  if  he's  got  ten  thousand  dollars  on  his  person 
it's  in  one  bill  and  folded  lengthwise. 

"Mr.  Patterson  G.  Coble,  our  second  vice-presi- 
dent," announces  the  colonel. 

"Glad  to  know  you,  gentlemen,"  says  this  Coble. 
"I  came  up  to  disseminate  the  tidings  that  Major 
Tallahassee  Tucker,  our  general  passenger  agent,  is 
now  negotiating  a  peachcrate  full  of  our  railroad 
bonds  with  the  Perry  County  Bank  for  a  loan.  My 
dear  Colonel  Rockingham,  was  that  chicken  gumbo 
or  cracked  goobers  on  the  bill  of  fare  in  your  note? 
Me  and  the  conductor  of  fifty-six  was  having  a  dis- 
pute about  it." 

"Another  white  wings  on  the  rocks  !"  hollers  Calig- 
ula. "If  I  see  any  more  I'll  fire  on  'em  and  swear 
they  was  torpedo-boats !" 

The  guide  goes  down  again,  and  convoys  into  the 
lair  a  person  in  blue  overalls  carrying  an  amount  of 
inebriety  and  a  lantern.  I  am  so  sure  that  this  is 
Major  Tucker  that  I  don't  even  ask  him  until  we  are 
up  above ;  and  then  I  discover  that  it  is  Uncle  Tim- 
othy, the  yard  switchman  at  Edenville,  who  is  sent 


Hostages  to  Momus  217 

ahead  to  flag  our  understandings  with  the  gossip  that 
Judge  Pendergast,  the  railroad's  attorney,  is  in  the 
process  of  mortgaging  Colonel  Rockingham's  farm- 
ing lands  to  make  up  the  ransom. 

While  he  is  talking,  two  men  crawl  from  under  the 
bushes  into  camp,  and  Caligula,  with  no  white  flag  to 
disinter  him  from  his  plain  duty,  draws  his  gun.  But 
again  Colonel  Rockingham  intervenes  and  introduces 
Mr.  Jones  and  Mr.  Batts,  engineer  and  fireman  of 
train  number  forty-two. 

"Excuse  us,"  says  Batts,  "but  me  and  Jim  have 
hunted  squirrels  all  over  this  mounting,  and  we  don't 
need  no  white  flag.  Was  that  straight,  colonel,  about 
the  plum  pudding  and  pineapples  and  real  store  ci- 
gars?" 

"Towel  on  a  fishing-pole  in  the  offing!"  howls 
Caligula.  "Suppose  it's  the  firing  line  of  the  freight 
conductors  and  brakeman." 

"My  last  trip  down,"  says  I,  wiping  off  my  face. 
"If  the  S.  &  E.  T.  wants  to  run  an  excursion  up 
here  just  because  we  kidnapped  their  president,  let 
'em.  We'll  put  out  our  sign.  'The  Kidnapper's 
Cafe  and  Trainmen's  Home.' " 

This  time  I  caught  Major  Tallahassee  Tucker  by 
his  own  confession,  and  I  felt  easier.  I  asked  him 
into  the  creek,  so  I  could  drown  him  if  he  happened 


218  The  Gentle  Grafter 

to  be  a  track-walker  or  caboose  porter.  All  the  way 
up  the  mountain  he  driveled  to  me  about  asparagus  on 
toast,  a  thing  that  his  intelligence  in  life  had  skipped. 

Up  above  I  got  his  mind  segregated  from  food  and 
asked  if  he  had  raised  the  ransom. 

"My  dear  sir,"  says  he,  "I  succeeded  in  negoti- 
ating a  loan  on  thirty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  the 
bonds  of  our  railroad,  and  — " 

"Never  mind  just  now,  major,"  says  I.  "It's  all 
right,  then.  Wait  till  after  dinner,  and  we'll  settle 
the  business.  All  of  you  gentlemen,"  I  continues  to 
the  crowd,  "are  invited  to  stay  to  dinner.  We  have 
mutually  trusted  one  another,  and  the  white  flag  is 
supposed  to  wave  over  the  proceedings." 

"The  correct  idea,"  says  Caligula,  who  was  stand- 
ing by  me.  "Two  baggage-masters  and  a  ticket- 
agent  dropped  out  of  a  tree  while  you  was  below  the 
last  time.     Did  the  major  man  bring  the  money?" 

"He  says,"  I  answered,  "that  he  succeeded  in  ne- 
gotiating the  loan." 

If  any  cooks  ever  earned  ten  thousand  dollars  in 
twelve  hours,  me  and  Caligula  did  that  day.  At  six 
o'clock  we  spread  the  top  of  the  mountain  with  as 
fine  a  dinner  as  the  personnel  of  any  railroad  ever 
engulfed.  We  opened  all  the  wine,  and  we  concocted 
entrees  and  pieces  de  resistance,  and  stirred  up  little 


Hostages  to  Momus  219 

savory  chef  de  cuisines  and  organized  a  mass  of  grub 
such  as  has  been  seldom  instigated  out  of  canned  and 
bottled  goods.  The  railroad  gathered  around  it,  and 
the  wassail  and  diversions  was  intense. 

After  the  feast  me  and  Caligula,  in  the  line  of 
business,  takes  Major  Tucker  to  one  side  and  talks 
ransom.  The  major  pulls  out  an  agglomeration  of 
currency  about  the  size  of  the  price  of  a  town  lot 
in  the  suburbs  of  Rabbitville,  Arizona,  and  makes 
this  outcry. 

"Gentlemen,"  says  he,  "the  stock  of  the  Sunrise 
&  Edenville  railroad  has  depreciated  some.  The  best 
I  could  do  with  thirty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  the 
bonds  was  to  secure  a  loan  of  eighty-seven  dollars  and 
fifty  cents.  On  the  farming  lands  of  Colonel  Rock- 
ingham, Judge  Pendergast  was  able  to  obtain,  on  a 
ninth  mortgage,  the  sum  of  fifty  dollars.  You  will 
find  the  amount,  one  hundred  and  thirty-seven  fifty, 
correct." 

"A  railroad  president,"  said  I,  looking  this  Tucker- 
in  the  eye,  "and  the  owner  of  a  thousand  acres  of 
land ;  and  yet  — " 

"Gentlemen,"  says  Tucker,  "The  railroad  is  ten 
miles  long.  There  don't  any  train  run  on  it  except 
when  the  crew  goes  out  in  the  pines  and  gathers 
enough  lightwood  knots  to  get  up  steam.     A  long 


220  The  Gentle  Grafter 

time  ago,  when  times  was  good,  the  net  earnings  used 
to  run  as  high  as  eighteen  dollars  a  week.  Colonel 
Rockingham's  land  has  been  sold  for  taxes  thirteen 
times.  There  hasn't  been  a  peach  crop  in  this  part  of 
Georgia  for  two  years.  The  wet  spring  killed  the 
watermelons.  Nobody  around  here  has  money 
enough  to  buy  fertilizer ;  and  land  is  so  poor  the  corn 
crop  failed,  and  there  wasn't  enough  grass  to  support 
the  rabbits.  All  the  people  have  had  to  eat  in  this 
section  for  over  a  year  is  hog  and  hominy,  and — " 

"Pick,"  interrupts  Caligula,  mussing  up  his  red 
hair,  "what  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  chicken- 
feed?" 

I  hands  the  money  back  to  Major  Tucker;  and 
then  I  goes  over  to  Colonel  Rockingham  and  slaps 
him  on  the  back. 

"Colonel,"  says  I,  "I  hope  you've  enjoyed  our 
little  joke.  We  don't  want  to  carry  it  too  far.  Kid- 
nappers !  Well,  wouldn't  it  tickle  your  uncle?  My 
name's  Rhinegelder,  and  I'm  a  nephew  of  Chauncey 
Depew.  My  friend's  a  second  cousin  of  the  editor  of 
Tuck.  So  you  can  see.  We  are  down  South  enjoy- 
ing ourselves  in  our  humorous  way.  Now,  there's 
two  quarts  of  cognac  to  open  yet,  and  then  the  joke's 
over." 

What's  the  use  to  go  into  details  ?     One  or  two  will 


Hostages  to  Momus  221 

be  enough.  I  remember  Major  Tallahassee  Tucker 
playing  on  a  jew's-harp,  and  Caligula  waltzing  with 
his  head  on  the  watch  pocket  of  a  tall  baggage-mas- 
ter. I  hesitate  to  refer  to  the  cake-walk  done  by 
me  and  Mr.  Patterson  G.  Coble  with  Colonel  Jackson 
T.  Rockingham  between  us. 

And  even  on  the  next  morning,  when  you  wouldn't 
think  it  possible,  there  was  a  consolation  for  me  and 
Caligula.  We  knew  that  Raisuli  himself  never  made 
half  the  hit  with  Burdiek  Harris  that  we  did  with  the 
Banrise  &  Edenville  Tap  Railroad. 


THE  ETHICS  OF  PIG 

ON  an  east-bound  train  I  went  into  the  smoker  and 
found  Jefferson  Peters,  the  only  man  with  a  brain 
west  of  the  Wabash  River  who  can  use  his  cerebrum 
cerebellum,  and  medulla  oblongata  at  the  same  time. 

Jeff  is  in  the  line  of  unillegal  graft.  He  is  not  to 
be  dreaded  by  widows  and  orphans ;  he  is  a  reducer 
of  surplusage.  His  favorite  disguise  is  that  of  the 
target-bird  at  which  the  spendthrift  or  the  reckless 
investor  may  shy  a  few  inconsequential  dollars.  He 
is  readily  vocalized  by  tobacco ;  so,  with  the  aid  of 
two  thick  and  easy-burning  brevas,  I  got  the  story  of 
his  latest  Autolycan  adventure. 

"In  my  line  of  business,"  said  Jeff,  "the  hardest 
thing  is  to  find  an  upright,  trustworthy,  strictly  hon- 
orable partner  to  work  a  graft  with.  Some  of  the 
best  men  I  ever  worked  with  in  a  swindle  would  resort 
to  trickery  at  times. 

"So,  last  summer,  I  thinks  I  will  go  over  into  this 

section  of  country  where  I  hear  the  serpent  has  not 

222 


The  Ethics  of  Pig  223 

yet  entered,  and  see  if  I  can  find  a  partner  naturally 
gifted  with  a  talent  for  crime,  but  not  yet  contami- 
nated by  success. 

"I  found  a  village  that  seemed  to  show  the  right 
kind  of  a  layout.  The  inhabitants  hadn't  found  out 
that  Adam  had  been  dispossessed,  and  were  going 
right  along  naming  the  animals  and  killing  snakes 
just  as  if  they  were  in  the  Garden  of  Eden.  They 
call  this  town  Mount  Nebo,  and  it's  up  near  the  spot 
where  Kentucky  and  West  Virginia  and  North  Car- 
olina corner  together.  Them  States  don't  meet? 
Well,  it  was  in  that  neighborhood,  anyway. 

"After  putting  in  a  week  proving  I  wasn't  a  rev- 
enue officer,  I  went  over  to  the  store  where  the  rude 
fourflushers  of  the  hamlet  lied,  to  see  if  I  could  get 
a  line  on  the  kind  of  man  I  wanted. 

"  'Gentlemen,'  says  I,  after  we  had  rubbed  noses 
and  gathered  'round  the  dried-apple  barrel.  'I  don't 
suppose  there's  another  community  in  the  whole  world 
into  which  sin  and  chicanery  has  less  extensively  per- 
meated than  this.  Life  here,  where  all  the  women  are 
brave  and  propitious  and  all  the  men  honest  and  ex- 
pedient, must,  indeed,  be  an  idol.  It  reminds  me,' 
says  I,  'of  Goldstein's  beautiful  ballad  entitled  "The 
Deserted  Village,"  which  says : 


224  The  Gentle  Grafter 

'111  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey; 

What  art  can  drive  its  charms  away? 
The  judge  rode  slowly  down  the  lane,  mother. 

For  I'm  to  be  Queen  of  the  May.' 

"'Why,  yes,  Mr.  Peters,'  says  the  storekeeper. 
'I  reckon  we  air  about  as  moral  and  torpid  a  com- 
munity as  there  be  on  the  mounting,  according  to 
censuses  of  opinion ;  but  I  reckon  you  ain't  ever  met 
Rufe  Tatum.' 

"  'Why,  no,'  says  the  town  constable,  'he  can't 
hardly  have  ever.  That  air  Rufe  is  shore  the  mon^ 
strousest  scalawag  that  has  escaped  hangin'  on  the 
galluses.  And  that  puts  me  in  mind  that  I  ought  to 
have  turned  Rufe  out  of  the  lockup  day  before  yes- 
terday. The  thirty  days  he  got  for  killin'  Yance 
Goodloe  was  up  then.  A  day  or  two  more  won't  hurt 
Rufe  any,  though.' 

"  'Shucks,  now,'  says  I,  in  the  mountain  idiom, 
'don't  tell  me  there's  a  man  in  Mount  Nebo  as  bad 
as  that.' 

"  'Worse,'  saj^s  the  storekeeper.     'He  steals  hogs.' 

"I  think  I  will  look  up  this  Mr.  Tatum ;  so  a  day 
or  two  after  the  constable  turned  him  out  I  got  ac- 
quainted with  him  and  invited  him  out  on  the  edge  of 
town  to  sit  on  a  log  and  talk  business. 

'What  I  wanted  was  a  partner  with  a  natural 


«i 


The  Ethics  of  Pig  225 

rural  make-up  to  play  a  part  in  some  little  one-act 
outrages  that  I  was  going  to  book  with  the  Pitfall 
&  Gin  circuit  in  some  of  the  Western  towns ;  and  this 
R.  Tatum  was  born  for  the  role  as  sure  as  nature  cast 
Fairbanks  for  the  stuff  that  kept  Eliza  from  sinking 
into  the  river. 

"He  was  about  the  size  of  a  first  baseman ;  and  he 
had  ambiguous  blue  eyes  like  the  china  dog  on  the 
mantelpiece  that  Aunt  Harriet  used  to  play  with 
when  she  was  a  child.  His  hair  waved  a  little  bit  like 
the  statue  of  the  dinkus-thrower  in  the  Vacation  at 
Rome,  but  the  color  of  it  reminded  you  of  the  'Sunset 
in  the  Grand  Canon,  by  an  American  Artist,'  that 
they  hang  over  the  stove-pipe  holes  in  the  saiongs. 
He  was  the  Reub,  without  needing  a  touch.  You'd 
have  known  him  for  one,  even  if  you'd  seen  him  on  the 
vaudeville  stage  with  one  cotton  suspender  and  a 
straw  over  his  ear. 

"I  told  him  what  I  wanted,  and  found  him  ready 
to  jump  at  the  job. 

"  'Overlooking  such  a  trivial  little  peccadillo  as  the 
habit  of  manslaughter,'  says  I,  'what  have  you  ac- 
complished in  the  way  of  indirect  brigandage  or  non- 
actionable  thriftiness  that  you  could  point  to,  with 
or  without  pride,  as  an  evidence  of  your  qualifications 
for  the  position?' 


226  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"  'Why,'  says  he,  in  his  kind  of  Southern  system 
of  procrastinated  accents,  'hain't  you  heard  tell? 
There  ain't  any  man,  black  or  white,  in  the  Blue 
Ridge  that  can  tote  off  a  shoat  as  easy  as  I  can  with- 
out bein'  heard,  seen,  or  cotched.  I  can  lift  a  shoat,' 
he  goes  on,  'out  of  a  pen,  from  under  a  porch,  at 
the  trough,  in  the  woods,  day  or  night,  anywhere  or 
anyhow,  and  I  guarantee  nobody  won't  hear  a  squeal. 
It's  all  in  the  way  you  grab  hold  of  'em  and  carry  'em 
atterwards.  Some  day,'  goes  on  this  gentle  despoiler 
of  pig-pens,  'I  hope  to  become  reckernized  as  the 
champion  shoat-stealer  of  the  world.' 

"  'It's  proper  to  be  ambitious,'  says  I ;  'and  hog- 
stealing  will  do  very  well  for  Mount  Nebo ;  but  in  the 
outside  world,  Mr.  Tatum,  it  would  be  considered  as 
crude  a  piece  of  business  as  a  bear  raid  on  Bay  State 
Gas.  However,  it  will  do  as  a  guarantee  of  good 
faith.  We'll  go  into  partnership.  I've  got  a  thou- 
sand dollars  cash  capital;  and  with  that  homeward- 
plods  atmosphere  of  yours  we  ought  to  be  able  to  win 
out  a  few  shares  of  Soon  Parted,  preferred,  in  the 
money  market.' 

"So  I  attaches  Rufe,  and  we  go  away  from  Mount 
Nebo  down  into  the  lowlands.  And  all  the  way  I 
coach  him  for  his  part  in  the  grafts  I  had  in  mind.     I 


The  Ethics  of  Pig  227 

had  idled  away  two  months  on  the  Florida  coast,  and 
was  feeling  all  to  the  Ponce  de  Leon,  besides  having 
so  manjT  new  schemes  up  my  sleeve  that  I  had  to  wear 
kimonos  to  hold  'em. 

"I  intended  to  assume  a  funnel  shape  and  mow  a 
path  nine  miles  wide  through  the  farming  belt  of  the 
Middle  West;  so  we  headed  in  that  direction.  But 
when  we  got  as  far  as  Lexington  we  found  Binkley 
Brothers'  circus  there,  and  the  blue-grass  peasantry 
romping  into  town  and  pounding  the  Belgian  blocks 
with  their  h  and  -pegged  sabots  as  artless  and  arbitrary 
as  an  extra  session  of  a  Datto  Bryan  duma.  I  never 
pass  a  circus  without  pulling  the  valve-cord  and  com- 
ing down  for  a  little  Key  West  money ;  so  I  engaged 
a  couple  of  rooms  and  board  for  Rufe  and  me  at  a 
house  near  the  eircus  grounds  run  by  a  widow  lady 
named  Peevy.  Then  I  took  Rufe  to  a  clothing  store 
and  gent's-outfitted  him.  He  showed  up  strong,  as 
I  knew  he  would,  after  he  was  rigged  up  in  the  ready- 
made  rutabaga  regalia.  Me  and  old  Misfitzky  stuffed 
him  into  a  bright  blue  suit  with  a  Nile  green  visible 
plaid  effect,  and  riveted  on  a  fancy  vest  of  a  light 
Tuskegee  Normal  tan  color,  a  red  necktie,  and  the 
yellowest  pair  of  shoes  in  town. 

They  were  the  first  clothes  Rufe  had  ever  worn  ex- 


228  The  Gentle  Grafter 

cept  the  gingham  layette  and  the  butternut  top- 
dressing  of  his  native  kraal,  and  he  looked  as  self- 
conscious  as  an  Igorrote  with  a  new  nose-ring. 

"That  night  I  went  down  to  the  circus  tents  and 
opened  a  small  shell  game.  Rufe  was  to  be  the  cap- 
per. I  gave  him  a  roll  of  phony  currency  to  bet  with 
and  kept  a  bunch  of  it  in  a  special  pocket  to  pay  his 
winnings  out  of.  No ;  I  didn't  mistrust  him ;  but  I 
simply  can't  manipulate  the  ball  to  lose  when  I  see 
real  money  bet.  My  fingers  go  on  a  strike  every  time 
I  try  it. 

"I  set  up  my  little  table  and  began  to  show  them 
how  easy  it  was  to  guess  which  shell  the  little  pea 
was  under.  The  unlettered  hinds  gathered  in  a  thick 
semicircle  and  began  to  nudge  elbows  and  banter  one 
another  to  bet.  Then  was  when  Rufe  ought  to  have 
single-footed  up  and  called  the  turn  on  the  little  joker 
for  a  few  tens  and  fives  to  get  them  started.  But,  no 
Rufe.  I'd  seen  him  two  or  three  times  walking  about 
and  looking  at  the  side-show  pictures  with  his  mouth 
full  of  peanut  candy ;  but  he  never  came  nigh. 

"The  crowd  piked  a  little ;  but  trying  to  work  the 
shells  without  a  capper  is  like  fishing  without  bait.  I 
closed  the  game  with  only  forty-two  dollars  of  the 
unearned  increment,  while  I  had  been  counting  on 
yanking  the  yeomen  for  two  hundred  at  least.    I  went 


The  Ethics  of  Pig  229 

home  at  eleven  and  went  to  bed.  I  supposed 
that  the  circus  had  proved  too  alluring  for  Rufe,  and 
that  he  had  succumbed  to  it,  concert  and  all ;  but  I 
meant  to  give  him  a  lecture  on  general  business  prin- 
ciples in  the  morning. 

"Just  after  Morpheus  had  got  both  my  shoulders 
to  the  shuck  mattress  I  hears  a  houseful  of  unbecom- 
ing and  ribald  noises  like  a  youngster  screeching  with 
green-apple  colic.  I  opens  my  door  and  calls  out  in 
the  hall  for  the  widow  lady,  and  when  she  sticks  her 
head  out,  I  says :  'Mrs.  Peevy,  ma'am,  would  you 
mind  choking  off  that  kid  of  yours  so  that  honest  peo- 
ple can  get  their  rest?' 

"  'Sir,'  says  she,  'it's  no  child  of  mine.  It's  the 
pig  squealing  that  3rour  friend  Mr.  Tatum  brought 
home  to  his  room  a  couple  of  hours  ago.  And  if  you 
are  uncle  or  second  cousin  or  brother  to  it,  I'd  appre- 
ciate your  stopping  its  mouth,  sir,  yourself,  if  you 
please.' 

"I  put  on  some  of  the  polite  outside  habiliments  of 
external  society  and  went  into  Rufe's  room.  He  had 
gotten  up  and  lit  his  lamp,  and  was  pouring  some 
milk  into  a  tin  pan  on  the  floor  for  a  dingy-white, 
half-grown,  squealing  pig. 

"'How  is  this,  Rufe?'  says  I.  'You  flimflammed 
in  your  part  of  the  work  to-night  and  put  the  game 


280  The  Gentle  Grafter 

on  crutches.  And  how  do  you  explain  the  pig?  It 
looks  like  back-sliding  to  me.' 

"  'Now,  don't  be  too  hard  on  me,  Jeff,'  says  he. 
'You  know  how  long  I've  been  used  to  stealing  shoats. 
It's  got  to  be  a  habit  with  me.  And  to-night,  w7hen 
I  see  such  a  fine  chance,  I  couldn't  help  takin'  it.' 

"'Well,'  says  I,  'maybe  you've  really  got  klep- 
topigia.  And  maybe  when  we  get  out  of  the  pig  belt 
you'll  turn  your  mind  to  higher  and  more  remuner- 
ative misconduct.  Why  you  should  want  to  stain 
your  soul  with  such  a  distasteful,  feeble-minded,  per- 
verted, roaring  beast  as  that  I  can't  understand.' 

'"Why,  Jeff,'  says  he,  'you  ain't  in  sympathy 
with  shoats.  You  don't  understand  'em  like  I  do. 
This  here  seems  to  me  to  be  an  animal  of  more  than 
common  powers  of  ration  and  intelligence.  He 
walked  half  across  the  room  on  his  hind  legs  a  while 
ago.' 

'"Well,  I'm  going  back  to  bed,'  says  I.  'See  if 
you  can  impress  it  upon  your  friend's  ideas  of  intelli- 
gence that  he's  not  to  make  so  much  noise.' 

"  'He  was  hungry,'  says  Rufe.  'He'll  go  to  sleep 
and  keep  quiet  now.' 

"I  always  get  up  before  breakfast  and  read  the 
morning  paper  whenever  I  happen  to  be  within  the 
radius  of  a  Hoe  cylinder  or  a  Washington  hand-press. 


The  Ethics  of  Pig  231 

The  next  morning  I  got  up  early,  and  found  a  Lex- 
ington daily  on  the  front  porch  where  the  carrier  had 
thrown  it.  The  first  thing  I  saw  in  it  was  a  double- 
column  ad.  on  the  front  page  that  read  like  this : 

FIVE  THOUSAND  DOLLARS  REWARD 
The  above  amount  will  be  paid,  and  no  questions  asked,  for 
the  return,  alive  and  uninjured,  of  Beppo,  the  famous   Euro- 
pean educated  pig,  that  strayed  or  was  stolen  from  the  side- 
show tents  of  Binkley  Bros.'  circus  last  night. 

Geo.  B.  Tapley,  Business  Manager. 

At  the  circus  grounds. 

"I  folded  up  the  paper  flat,  put  it  into  my  inside 
pocket,  and  went  to  Rufe's  room.  He  was  nearly 
dressed,  and  was  feeding  the  pig  the  rest  of  the  milk 
and  some  apple-peelings. 

"  'Well,  well,  well,  good  morning  all,'  I  says,  hearty 
and  amiable.  'So  we  are  up?  And  piggy  is  having 
his  breakfast.  What  had  you  intended  doing  with 
that  pig,  Rufe?' 

"  'I'm  going  to  crate  him  up,'  says  Rufe,  'and 
express  him  to  ma  in  Mount  Nebo.  He'll  be  company 
for  her  while  I  am  away.' 

"  'He's  a  mighty  fine  pig,'  says  I,  scratching  hia? 
on  the  back. 

'"You  called  him  a  lot  of  names  last  night,'  says 
Rufe. 


232  The  Gentle  Grafter 


«  w 


'Oh,  well,'  says  I,  'he  looks  better  to  me  this 
morning.  I  was  raised  on  a  farm,  and  I'm  very  fond 
of  pigs.  I  used  to  go  to  bed  at  sundown,  so  I  never 
saw  one  by  lamplight  before.  Tell  you  what  I'll  do, 
Rufe,'  I  says.  'I'll  give  you  ten  dollars  for  that 
pig.' 

"  'I  reckon  I  wouldn't  sell  this  shoat,'  says  he.  'If 
it  was  any  other  one  I  might.' 

'"Why  not  this  one?'  I  asked,  fearful  that  he 
might  know  something. 

"  'Why,  because,'  says  he,  'it  was  the  grandest 
achievement  of  my  life.  There  ain't  airy  other  man 
that  could  have  done  it.  If  I  ever  have  a  fireside  and 
children,  I'll  sit  beside  it  and  tell  'em  how  their  daddy 
toted  off  a  shoat  from  a  whole  circus  full  of  people. 
And  maybe  my  grandchildren,  too.  They'll  certainly 
be  proud  a  whole  passel.  Why,'  says  he,  'there  was 
two  tents,  one  openin'  into  the  other.  This  shoat  was 
on  a  platform,  tied  with  a  little  chain.  I  seen  a  giant 
and  a  lady  with  a  fine  chance  of  bushy  white  hair  in 
the  other  tent.  I  got  the  shoat  and  crawled  out  from 
under  the  canvas  again  without  him  squeakin'  as  loud 
as  a  mouse.  I  put  him  under  my  coat,  and  I  must 
have  passed  a  hundred  folks  before  I  got  out  where 
the  streets  was  dark.     I  reckon  I  wouldn't  sell  that 


The  Ethics  of  Pig  233 

shoat,  Jeff.     I'd  want  ma  to  keep  it,  so  there'd  be  a 
witness  to  what  I  done.' 

"  'The  pig  won't  live  long  enough,'  I  says,  'to  use 
as  an  exhibit  in  your  senile  fireside  mendacity.  Your 
grandchildren  will  have  to  take  your  word  for  it.  I'll 
give  you  one  hundred  dollars  for  the  animal.' 

"Rufe  looked  at  me  astonished. 

"  'The  shoat  can't  be  worth  anything  like  that  to 
you,'  he  says.     'What  do  you  want  him  for?' 

'"Viewing  me  casuistically,'  says  I,  with  a  rare 
smile,  'you  wouldn't  think  that  I've  got  an  artistic 
side  to  my  temper.  But  I  have.  I'm  a  collector  of 
pigs.  I've  scoured  the  world  for  unusual  pigs.  Over 
in  the  Wabash  Valley  I've  got  a  hog  ranch  with  most 
every  specimen  on  it,  from  a  Merino  to  a  Poland 
China.  This  looks  like  a  blooded  pig  to  me,  Rufe,' 
says  I.  'I  believe  it's  a  genuine  Berkshire.  That's 
why  I'd  like  to  have  it.' 

"  'I'd  shore  like  to  accommodate  you,'  says  he,  'but 
I've  got  the  artistic  tenement,  too.  I  don't  see  why 
it  ain't  art  when  you  can  steal  a  shoat  better  than 
anybody  else  can.  Shoats  is  a  kind  of  inspiration 
and  genius  with  me.  Specially  this  one.  I  wouldn't 
take  two  hundred  and  fifty  for  that  animal.' 

'Now,  listen,'  says  I,  wiping  off  my  forehead. 


an 


234  The  Gentle  Grafter 

'It's  not  so  much  a  matter  of  business  with  me  as  it  is 
art ;  and  not  so  much  art  as  it  is  philanthropy.  Be- 
ing a  connoisseur  and  disseminator  of  pigs,  I  wouldn't 
feel  like  I'd  done  my  duty  to  the  world  unless  I  added 
that  Berkshire  to  my  collection.  Not  intrinsically, 
but  according  to  the  ethics  of  pigs  as  friends  and 
coadjutors  of  mankind,  I  offer  you  five  hundred  dol- 
lars for  the  animal.' 

"'Jeff,'  says  this  pork  esthete,  'it  ain't  money; 
it's  sentiment  with  me.' 

"  'Seven  hundred,'  says  I. 

'"Make  it  eight  hundred,'  says  Rufe,  'and  I'll 
crush  the  sentiment  out  of  my  heart.' 

"I  went  under  my  clothes  for  my  money-belt,  and 
counted  him  out  forty  twenty-dollar  gold  certificates. 

"'I'll  just  take  him  into  my  own  room,'  says  I, 
'and  lock  him  up  till  after  breakfast.' 

"I  took  the  pig  by  the  hind  leg.  He  turned  on  a 
squeal  like  the  steam  calliope  at  the  circus. 

"  'Let  me  tote  him  in  for  you,'  says  Rufe ;  and  he 
picks  up  the  beast  under  one  arm,  holding  his  snout 
with  the  other  hand,  and  packs  him  into  my  room  like 
a  sleeping  baby. 

"After  breakfast  Rufe,  who  had  a  chronic  case  of 
haberdashery  ever  since  I  got  his  trousseau,  says  he 
believes  he  will  amble  down  to  Misfitkzy's  and  look 


The  Ethics  of  Pig  235 

over  some  royal-purple  socks.  And  then  I  got  as 
busy  as  a  one-armed  man  with  the  nettle-rash  pasting 
on  wall-paper.  I  found  an  old  negro  man  with  an 
express  wagon  to  hire;  and  we  tied  the  pig  in  a  sack 
and  drove  down  to  the  circus  grounds. 

"I  found  George  B.  Tapley  in  a  little  tent  with  a 
window  flap  open.  He  was  a  fattish  man  with  an 
immediate  eye,  in  a  black  skull-cap,  with  a  four- 
ounce  diamond  screwed  into  the  bosom  of  his  red 
sweater. 

"'Are  you  George  B.  Tapley?'  I  asks. 

"  'I  swear  it,'  says  he. 

"  'Well,  I've  got  it,'  says  I. 

"  'Designate,'  says  he.  'Are  you  the  guinea  pigs 
for  the  Asiatic  python  or  the  alfalfa  for  the  sacred 
buffalo?' 

"  'Neither,'  says  I.  'I've  got  Beppo,  the  educated 
hog,  in  a  sack  in  that  wagon.  I  found  him  rooting 
up  the  flowers  in  my  front  yard  this  morning.  I'll 
take  the  five  thousand  dollars  in  large  bills,  if  it's 
hand}-.' 

"George  B.  hustles  out  of  his  tent,  and  asks  me  to 
follow.  We  went  into  one  of  the  side-shows.  In 
there  was  a  jet  black  pig  with  a  pink  ribbon  around 
his  neck  lying  on  some  hay  and  eating  carrots  that  a 
man  was  feeding  to  him. 


236  The  Gentle  Grafter 

"  'Hey,  Mac,'  calls  G.  B.  'Nothing  wrong  with 
the  world-wide  this  morning,  is  there?' 

"'Him?  No,'  says  the  man.  'He's  got  an  appe- 
tite like  a  chorus  girl  at  1  a.  m.' 

'"How'd  you  get  this  pipe?'  says  Tapley  to  me. 
'Eating  too  many  pork  chops  last  night?' 

"I  pulls  out  the  paper  and  shows  him  the  ad. 

"  Take,'  says  he.  'Don't  know  anj^thing  about 
it.  You've  beheld  with  your  own  eyes  the  marvelous, 
world-wide  porcine  wonder  of  the  four-footed  king- 
dom eating  with  preternatural  sagacity  his  matutinal 
meal,  unstraj^ed  and  unstole.     Good  morning.' 

"I  was  beginning  to  see.  I  got  in  the  wagon  and 
told  Uncle  Ned  to  drive  to  the  most  adjacent  orifice  of 
the  nearest  alley.  There  I  took  out  my  pig,  got  the 
range  carefully  for  the  other  opening,  set  his  sights, 
and  gave  him  such  a  kick  that  he  went  out  the  other 
end  of  the  alley  twenty  feet  ahead  of  his  squeal. 

"Then  I  paid  Uncle  Ned  his  fifty  cents,  and  walked 
down  to  the  newspaper  office.  I  wanted  to  hear  it  in 
cold  syllables.  I  got  the  advertising  man  to  his  win- 
dow. 

"  'To  decide  a  bet,'  says  I,  'wasn't  the  man  who 
had  this  ad.  put  in  last  night  short  and  fat,  with  long, 
black  whiskers  and  a  club-foot?' 

"  'He  was  not,'  says  the  man.     'He  would  measure 


The  Ethics  of  Pig  237 

about  six  feet  by  four  and  a  half  inches,  with  corn- 
silk  hair,  and  dressed  like  the  pansies  of  the  conserva- 
tory.' 

"At  dinner  time  I  went  back  to  Mrs.  Peevy's. 

"  'Shall  I  keep  some  soup  hot  for  Mr.  Tatum  till 
he  comes  back?'  she  asks. 

"  'If  you  do,  ma'am,'  says  I,  'you'll  more  than  ex- 
haust for  firewood  all  the  coal  in  the  bosom  of  the 
earth  and  all  the  forests  on  the  outside  of  it.' 

"So  there,  you  see,"  said  Jefferson  Peters,  in  con- 
clusion, "how  hard  it  is  ever  to  find  a  fair-minded 
and  honest  business-partner." 

"But,"  I  began,  with  the  freedom  of  long  ac- 
quaintance, "the  rule  should  work  both  ways.  If  }tou 
had  offered  to  divide  the  reward  you  would  not  have 
lost—" 

Jeff's  look  of  dignified  reproach  stopped  me. 

"That  don't  involve  the  same  principles  at  all," 
said  he.  "Mine  was  a  legitimate  and  moral  attempt 
at  speculation.  Buy  low  and  sell  high  —  don't  Wall 
street  indorse  it?  Bulls  and  bears  and  pigs  —  what's 
the  difference?  Why  not  bristles  as  well  as  horns 
and  fur?" 

THE    END 


IBB  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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